


Clandestinity is a Virtue

by Shanix



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Abuse, Before Events in the Game, Discovery, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Mental Abuse, Mentions of Prostitution, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Pre-Blackwater Massacre, Prostitution, Slow Burn, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shanix/pseuds/Shanix
Summary: [INCOMPLETE]Bad decisions can lead to worse outcomes, but he's not one of them. He never was and never will be.She didn't have a choice... so why is she paying the consequences?





	1. A Life Worth Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And thank you for taking the time to check this out!
> 
> This is my first RDR2 fic, so I hope that this won't be a complete disaster, heh. Anyway, I tend to have a schedule that I follow, which is updating weekly(ish) but I'll have to see how it goes.
> 
> As for now, my first update will consist of two chapters because I believe that the first one is too short. 
> 
> That's all for now! I think. 
> 
> OH WAIT this fic takes place before the main story as well as the Blackwater Massacre. 
> 
> Okay, I think that's it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

When I first rode into Blackwater a few months ago, I envisioned myself starting a new life. Not one with riches, but one of fulfillment. It didn't matter what I was doing, as long as everything was peaceful and honest. Mexico had been my home for some time but losing my mother had caused me to rethink my plan as to what I was going to do. The only one that sounded appealing enough was going back to the U.S., as much as it pained me.

After realizing how little Blackwater had to offer for dreamers like me, I had no choice but to remain. I spent most of my money to travel all the way up here, and being a seamstress doesn't take anyone too far. Now, I'm stuck in a small corner shop. How convenient.

The days are practically uneventful, to say the least. The rich flaunt their money as if life depends on it, with not so much as a 'thank you' when they walk out the door. I'm glad I was raised on manners, even in the worst of places.

The scorching heat of July has everyone on town just slightly more on edge, and I can't say I blame them. Even I find my self making more frequent silly mistakes on my sewing on these unbearable days.

However, today is slightly better with a constant cool breeze that lifts the spirit a little higher. By noon, I finish stocking the leathers and cottons into their respective compartments in the back of the shop. And by the evening, I attend to over ten different in customers in need of new outfits for some party later in the night. I can't help but feel proud as I wave goodbye to my manager, the kind Mr. Kretzschmar, bidding him goodnight.

Living in the outskirts of Blackwater has its perks, such as gentle and quiet solitude, but it also has its downside. Being as lonely as it is, there are plenty of dangers that constantly threaten it. I have come home to the scene of a robbery a couple of weeks ago, although nothing except a few canned foods were taken. I fear that if I don't find a more secure place nearer to the town soon, something more consequential may happen.

I step into the homestead, throwing my shawl and kicking of my shoes against a nearby wall. The steady chirp of crickets takes over the sweet silence as I close the door. There isn't much to do at home, except fixing up a meal and taking a bath of course. The only other things that prevent me from mundanity are my books. Most of them cover history, while a few others are poems and children's stories. Even after countless page turns for each, I am never able to tire from their enriching tales and information. I yearn to have the talent to write, but I fear the day won't come too soon.

After preparing myself a simple beef stew, I grab one of the books and settle into bed. It's getting late, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying at least a few chapters on the Italian Renaissance. I let my mind wander where it wishes to, only influenced by the luxury and change that it reads off of the pages. I wonder if I could travel one day...

But in this world, wishing is for fools. All that is left is only dreams.

The night is quiet with only the sound of pages being turned, but it doesn't last. The shrill and distant scream of a woman cuts right through it, echoing through the area. I feel the hairs on my arms and back of my neck stand up, suddenly terrified of what was outside my front door. In an act of fear, I close my book and turn off the single gas lamp above the bedpost. I draw the curtains, unable to block out the scenarios of possibilities of what was happening from running through my mind.

The only other homestead around here was one about a mile to the east. A farmer and his two kids lived there, but no woman.

It was definitely a woman.

I peek out through the window, seeing nothing but a seemingly endless plain of nothing but grass and dirt. There's not even a sign of a camp anywhere nearby.

I convince myself that whatever that was, it wasn't anything to worry about. At least for now. I could always go to the sheriff's office and report it on my way to work.

Pulling the blanket around my body, I lay back in bed, replaying the scream over and over in my head until I am lulled into a light sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning I awaken to the sound of loud hoofbeats outside my window. Along with the echoic memory of last night's occurrence, I almost jump out of bed. Before I have the chance to steady myself though, there's a loud knocking at my door. Muffled voices, those of which don't sound so friendly, relay back and forth, clearly arguing about something.

Any sort of fear is thrown out once I see the sunlight outside. Unlike the cloaking darkness of the night, the day seems to have a way of waving away suspicions and terrors. No one would try anything during the daytime. Not when Blackwater is close by. I quickly put on a simple shirt and skirt, ignoring the messy braid my hair is pulled back in. I make sure to pocket my revolver in the back of my skirt—just in case.

I stumble over to the door and carefully pry it open, eyeing the visitors. They look like any other pair of men, but perhaps more on the rugged side. Parts of their clothes are ripped and covered in mud, but I choose to ignore that for the time being. They look to be middle-aged... maybe older, or perhaps the effect of working so long.

Once I realize that they haven't noticed me yet, I clear my throat. "May I help you, gentlemen?"

Their eyes fly down to mine. One of them clears their throat and offers a lopsided smile. "Sorry to disturb you, miss. We, uh, was wonderin' if you might've heard the screamin' woman last night?"

I'm slightly taken aback by the fact that they also heard it as well, but I make a point not to show it. I simply nod. "Yes, I did hear it last night. I was thinking of going down to the sheriff's later to let them know about it."

They exchange glances with each other for a second before turning back to me. Suddenly, something shifts in their eyes. Their demeanors aren't so calm as they were just a moment ago. I turn to take a step back, but before I have the chance to make any sort of noise, I feel a blunt object hit me on the head—hard and heavy.

My vision becomes shrouded in darkness, the echoing of mocking laughter ringing vaguely in my ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this seems rushed! It tends to be a problem of mine when starting a story. The next chapters shouldn't feel that way.
> 
> Please leave any comments or constructive criticism if you would like! I don't bite, but it would be appreciated if they weren't mean. I have feelings too.
> 
> Thank you!


	2. Rescue

The cooling sensation of water hits my neck with no warning, followed almost immediately on my forehead. I let the small droplets run across my skin, into my hair, and a little beneath my shirt. The more they do, the more I realize how hot I actually am.

And how much pain my muscles and head are in.

I try to move my left leg, only to be stopped by a piercing flare of excruciating pain traveling through my body. I gasp and groan, feeling a bottle of something being forced into my mouth. I have no choice but to down the liquid which promptly results in my throat being burned. With it, a rush of adrenaline forces my eyes open. Even though my vision is blurry, I survey my surroundings in a complete panic: the forest, a small fire, the night sky, some canned food, and...

A single man.

He seems concerned, but it's hard to tell with the hat that shadows his features.

A scream begins builds up in my chest, but he's is quick to clamp a hand on my mouth. "Not a word," he hushes. "Don't want ya attractin' any unwanted attention."

My eyes are wide. I feel my breathing increase rapidly, but an exhausting mixture of pain, stress, and dizziness is swift to catch up. I instantly settle back into the embrace of unconsciousness, letting my body fall limp.

 

* * *

 

When I finally come around once again, it's barely morning. The moon is still visible, but there are a few faint streaks of light far out on the horizon. With careful movements, I sit up and notice that I'm laying on a mat with a thin blanket draped across my legs. The fire that was once alight beside me is reduced to nothing but embers, and the canned food that was once stacked together is all but gone.

Has the man left too?

I get my answer when I scan the campsite and see a couple of items next to a bedroll off about five feet from where I am. There's not much except a bow, a rifle, and a water canteen.

_A water canteen._

As if on cue, my mouth becomes unbearably dry... and my body just as warm. Maybe it's just a fever, but I can only hope.

I'm about to stand on my feet when that familiar surge of pain courses through my leg once more, causing me to fall onto my backside. I let out a groan of frustration and keep my gaze fixated on the canteen. With the heat of the summer well upon this side of the country, even the early mornings are almost as humid and warm as the day itself.

I reach out to grab the strap attached to it, but my arm is too short. Probably by a foot or two. I look around for a long sturdy branch, but none are close enough in proximity. I'm just about to start crawling when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.

A wave of fear hits my core as I crane my head back, spotting the man from last night. He's leaning against a tree, a cigarette tucked between his lips, eyeing me with nothing but suspicion.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He makes his way over to the canteen and kicks it further away, not breaking his stare on me. "Ya think just because I saved your life you can take everythin' ya want?"

I gulp and slowly shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away. This time, I can see his face; strong features that are worn out from a lifetime of work, a little stubble around his cheeks and mouth... But what stands out are his eyes. They are a crystal clear blue that betrays the dark and intimidating aura around his person.

A scoff from him snaps me out of my trance. "So, who are ya then? Some girl the O'Driscolls picked up?" He throws the cigarette to the side and walks up to me. With what strength is still available in me, I jerk back as far as I can.

"Don't touch me," I manage to say, my throat still a sore mess.

He puts his hands up in defense and stays where he is. I can tell that he is slightly annoyed, but still obedient enough to move back to the tree where he was before.

I look down at my wound, seeing crimson stained bandages wrapped around my calf and shin. Most of the pain stems from the calf area, but virtually all sort of feeling is gone from my ankle and foot. I have never been severely hurt before, but not knowing what had caused it brings a sense of exasperation and anxiety over me. I can't even remember anything that happened after those men took me out. O'Driscolls, the man mentioned. I had heard of them before but was never too concerned with their presence since many of their schemes were executed outside of Blackwater.

I take in a shaky breath. "H-How did you find me?"

The man pulls out another cigarette and match before striking the latter against his boot. "Was restin' on the side of the road when I heard some wailin'. Didn't sit too well with me." He shakes his head, lighting the cigarette. "Saw those goddamn bastards ridin' off with you. Couldn't just sit there, so I chased after 'em."

"Then... how did my leg...?"

He takes a drag, letting out a thin cloud of smoke a few seconds later. "Gunfire. I was able to get the bullet out of ya after, though ya put on quite the fight, missy." He nods to the couple bottles of whiskey a few yards away. "It should be fine in a week or so."

I nod weakly, realizing what was forced down my throat last night. I would have preferred not to use alcohol in that sort of situation, but there was also no way I would complain about my life being saved.

"So, how did you end with them, anyhow? No offense, ma'am, but you don't look like the workin' girl type." Another drag. I can't tell if he's joking or not, but the sting of his words still pierce my heart.

"They came to my door yesterday," I say quietly, staring at a tree in front of me. "They asked me something about a scream that night..."

He nodded. "Then they knocked ya out?"

I shrug and lean back on my hands, trying to adjust my right leg into a better position. "Seems to be the case."

For the next hour, we keep to ourselves. He eventually gives me a drink of water, even being as kind as pulling out a small tin cup for me. Conversation is nonexistent though, and I gradually find myself wondering when I'll be able to get back home. My leg will have to be examined by a real doctor; not that I don't trust this man, but... I probably shouldn't. He doesn't necessarily seem to be friendly, and I can only see the irritation on his face when he glances at me every other minute.

After perhaps the tenth time of doing so, I muster up what courage is still left in me and turn to him. "What is your name, mister?"

He mumbles something incoherently, no doubt some sort of rude comment, before sitting down next to the fire pit. "Arthur," he replies bluntly.

I pause, expecting him to say his last name, but all I receive is a glare telling me that I'm not going to get anything. I guess that might be all I'll ever learn of this man. He's already shrouded in enough mystery.

"Oh, well, my name is Adelita. Nice to meet you, Mr. Arthur."

He shakes his head. "Just Arthur is fine, miss."

"Then please, call me Adelita."

He looks up at me, slightly bewildered, and nods. "Sure."

 

* * *

 

Once noon rolls around, I hear my stomach begin to grumble. I quickly realize that I haven't eaten anything in over a day. I'm too embarrassed to ask Arthur for food, especially after his reaction to me trying to reach his water canteen. There's no way I'm going to even ask.

I decide to wait out until evening, but the long hours only add to my suffering. It isn't until that he's changing my bandages that my stomach growls once again. My face becomes a light shade of red, but I don't say anything. Although I know Arthur heard it, he refuses to acknowledge it.

"This will hurt. You ready, or do ya want something to ease the pain?" he asks, getting ready to peel off the older wraps.

I exhale slowly and close my eyes, trying to be as calm as possible. My heart is beating a thousand miles per hour. "No. I don't need anything. Just go on and-"

Arthur begins to pull the bandages off, slowly, but in no way gentle. Part of me wants to scream, another part wants to slap him, but the other just wants to sit still and endure the burning sensation if it means my leg will heal. I clench my fists as I try to breathe in and out evenly, counting from one to whatever number I can. By the time I reach sixty-five, he's finally done.

"Easy there. You alright?"

"Y-Yeah... god, that really... really hurt," I drawl out with heavy breaths.

He sighs, shaking his head and stands up. "You sure can't handle anything, can't ya?"

"I wouldn't say that, Arthur."

He shrugs, shaking his head a second later with a sigh. "I'm gonna go out and see if I can catch anythin'. Will you be alright by yourself?"

_Yes. Oh, god, yes if it means I can eat._

"I-I think so."

"Okay, then. Here." He hands me his revolver, freshly cleaned and shining, and instructs me to shoot anyone that comes to close to the camp. "You're in no place to defend yourself, so if someone comes by, don't think. Shoot."

I can only bob my head wearily, suddenly afraid of being left alone. I'm pretty sure I'm developing a fever, and the idea of watching over myself and the small camp seems too daunting of a task with an injured leg.

But I really don't want to upset Arthur.

"Ad'lita, ya understand me?"

I wave a hand dismissively in his direction. "C-Crystal clear, Arthur. Trust me. I'm a gr... I'm a great shot."

He raises an eyebrow and narrows his gaze on me. Without another word, he grabs his bow and heads out into the forest, his horse following close by.


	3. The Art of Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all are having a good week(:

“Ad’lita? Adelita, wake the hell up!"

Arthur's yelling could move mountains if it wanted to. Thankfully, it's just enough to startle me awake. I slowly open my eyes to see him hovering above me, shirt slightly covered in blood and wearing an angry expression. All I can think is how much trouble I'm going to be in, but a painful throbbing in my head and stomach stop me from worrying about it too much.

I try to speak, but my throat still feels like it's on fire. "Fe... ver..." I whisper hoarsely.

"Yeah, I figured. You don't look too good." He bends down beside me and takes the revolver that I'm still holding in my hand. "Didn't even stay awake for thirty minutes, did ya?"

If I could have the ability to feel guilt at this moment, I would, but when the heat is too much and there's nothing in my stomach, little else matters. Not even adequate safety or defense. I think it would have been preferable to be shot dead.

I rest my head back down on the mat, watching as Arthur walks to the already-set-up fire a few feet away. "Knew I shouldn't have left ya alone," he mumbles with a scoff. "Foolish. You were lucky no one passed by."

I don't say anything, really because I don't want to annoy him further. I'm sure I would be thrown into some part of this wood and left alone if I did. Instead, I keep my mouth shut and observe Arthur skin a whitetail deer on the other side of the camp. Once again, it's quiet.

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours later, the wondrous smell of seasoned meat wavers over to my nose. I find the strength to sit myself up and notice Arthur eating a piece silently on his bedroll. His eyes fly over to mine, and there's a moment of hesitation before he grabs his tin cup and hands it over to me.

Bite-sized pieces of meat are inside, almost identically and perfectly cut. I look up at him just in time to see him pull out a couple of other items from his satchel: canned peaches, canned beans, and a small glass jar. He opens the canned goods and sets them beside me. Then he holds up the last item. "Don't drink this until ya have a full belly, ya hear?"

I nod my head in understanding and give him a small smile. "Thank you," I say warily.

There's no response. Both of us eat our meal for the next hour and watch as the sun sets on the horizon. I make sure to drink the liquid, and I immediately notice it's some sort of medicine. Now that I have food and my stomach, I can finally think clearly. With it though, I realize I will have been gone for almost two days. Two days away from the shop, two days away from my home. I'm sure we'll be camping for at least one more night, given that my leg hasn't much improved, but here's hoping. I would have to ask Arthur when we would be able to go back. Staying here hasn't been the most pleasant of experiences, though I have to say that the company isn't too bad.

"So..." I look over as Arthur pulls out a cigarette and lights it. "Where are ya from?" he asks.

There was definitely some sort of miracle ingredient inside that medicine that he gave me. My throat isn't as sore and my leg doesn't appear to hurt as much. So, I'm more than happy to reply.

"I live in Blackwater," I say, pausing for a moment. "Or in the outskirts of it."

He nods and breathes out a cloud of smoke. "But your name. It's diff'rent—if ya don't mind me sayin'."

"Oh, well, my mother was Mexican. She met my father here in the States. Then they had me and he left us in Mexico."

"What happened to them?"

I lower my gaze a little. I haven't had the need to talk about my parents in... well, never. Now that I had to put all those memories into words, there isn't much to say. "My mother died a few months ago from pneumonia. My father... well... he had it coming I suppose, but that was years ago."

Arthur chuckles. "I know what ya mean."

"Your father was the same way?" I ask.

"Got himself hung. That bastard deserved it after all he did." He throws the cigarette into the fire.

I open my mouth to say something, but I clamp it shut and save the thoughts in the back of my mind for another time. For now, I listen to Arthur as he recounts his painful life with his father. He mentions that he doesn't remember much about his mother, only when his father treated her badly. There's a glint of hatred in his eyes. It's not threatening, but in some way mixed with remorse and longing. It's hard to tell.

Our conversation goes on through the evening, only stopping when we hear some horses pass close by. It only turns out to be a couple of huntsmen, but the encounter still prompts us to settle in for the night. However, I can't help myself with one last question.

"Why did you help me, Arthur?"

He glances over at me, his usual blank expression rigid and uncertain. I can tell that he wants to say something, but instead lays on his mat and rolls onto his side, his back facing me.

An ache of unease spreads through my chest. The truth is, I still don't know much about him. All I know is that he isn't some average man wanting to be a knight in shining armor for every distressed damsel he sees. In fact, he seems far from it. His personality shows that much.

So why am I here?

 

* * *

 

The next morning is a lot cooler; I suspect about ten degrees cooler than the average. I look over Arthur to see him sound asleep, lightly snoring with his jacket laying across his chest. I debate whether or not to wake him but it would probably be best to leave him be. He deserves that much after not sleeping for a whole day.

I sit up and stretch my leg out, finally being able to feel my toes and ankle. The muscle is still very much sore, but perhaps in a good enough condition where I can walk on it. Sitting on a single blanket for two days is anything but fun.

I test my theory by quietly crawling over to a tree and leaning on it for support. I secure my right leg underneath myself and slowly push up, keeping a firm grip on the trunk. The effect of all those bedridden hours are evident on my good leg—it’s tight but once I'm able to stand, the muscle loosens.

I look back at Arthur to make sure he's still sleeping. His motionless figure tells me all I need to know before I attempt taking a step. My foot rests gently against the damp foliage underneath, but as I apply more pressure onto it, I immediately regret even trying. Not only can I feel the pain in my leg, but the faint stinging of a cut rushes through my nerves. I look at the bottom of my foot to make sure I really didn't step on anything.

Following a surge of frustration, I hop on one leg over to the next tree. I glance back to check on Arthur.

And do it again.

I repeat the process as many times as I can before my leg decides it’s had enough. I lean against a rock, breaths heavy. From here, I can hardly see the camp. A sense of accomplishment is enough to keep me going for the next five minutes.

I eventually find myself facing a body of water. Although I'm pretty sure it's the Montana River, I can't tell if we are close to Flat Iron Lake or not. For now, I sit down and take a break. Actual walking will take a little longer to come by, but I'm more than satisfied for hopping away from that mundane camp for the time being. I'm convinced that the air is fresher on this end of the wood.

I suddenly wish to be back in Mexico, back in a comfortable cabin where the air was always cool and crisp. The aroma of my mother's cooking was ever present, always reminding me that I was lucky to still have her around. But then that would lead to thoughts of my father, causing me to glance at the picture of both of them on the kitchen counter. Their stoic faces read nothing, and I often wondered if they really did love each other at one point... even if it didn't last long. Though they never married, my mother wanted me to have his last name.

" _To remind you that you came from something that could have been better_ ," she told me.

And I'm still trying to be better.

Perhaps it may never come true. There's already the matter of surviving the world every day. That kept me busy enough aside from looking for a better place to settle down. Everything just seems to come crashing down when I least want it to.

My thoughts are interrupted by the rustling of leaves behind me. Arthur emerges silently as ever, hand loosely resting on his gun belt. He gives me a faint smile, one that tells me he's impressed I made it this far out. Sleepiness is evident in his droopy eyes and tilted head. Hopefully I wasn't the one who roused him awake.

"Good morning, Arthur," I offer, smiling in his direction.

He simply nods and makes his way over to me, staring down to the river below. “You ready to go home?” he asks.

I scoff, shaking my head with disbelief from his words. “Of course I am. I miss my bed, but I don't mind spending a couple of nights out in the wood with a complete stranger,” I joke, but he seems less than humored. This man couldn’t be phased by a professional comedian even if it came knocking at his door. Was there anything that could break that emotionless expression that was always on his face?

“Let’s head on out then. Better if we get there early before anyone from town sees us.”

"And why would that be an issue?" I inquire, getting ready to stand up.

He holds his hand out and I take it, balancing myself next to him. "Don't want some folk seein' me with ya. Nothin' personal, just best if we keep it that way."

"Oh, well, alright then." Curiosity naturally comes and goes, and I let the topic be for later. Bits and pieces are beginning to fall together though, and I hope I'm able to grasp a good understanding of him. Still, I don't raise my expectations.

Arthur helps me to the camp, keeping a gentle support under my arm and around my back. I explain to him how I managed to get so far by hopping on one foot, and I expect some sort of praise for my efforts. Instead, all I receive is a look of disapproval. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt, Ad’lita,” he scolds, his grip tightening around my torso.

“I paced myself. I was fine.”

He doesn't believe me.

When we arrive, I notice most of his items are already packed up with the exception of the two bedrolls. Perhaps he didn’t worry too much about my whereabouts if he took the time to gather his things first. After stowing away the two items left, he leads me to his horse, Boadicea, who stands patiently at the edge of the camp. She's a beautiful sorrel with a roan blanket near her flank, almost seeming to gleam in the early rays of the morning. Although she's calm, there's a certain look in her eyes that spells trouble—almost as if it was a warning. I'm not sure if it may be because of her strong build, but I remind myself not to make a fuss while riding.

Arthur mounts up and reaches his arm down to me. I grab it tightly as he lifts me up with relative ease, and I settle behind the saddle, wrapping my arms around his midsection. It feels a little odd at first, but I'm able to find my balance in no time.

"How far to Blackwater?" I ask, loosening my grip around him.

He clicks his horse forward. "Not too far. Maybe an hour or so. You alright back there?"

Despite the constant bouncing of riding a horse, I convince myself that I will be able to endure it for an hour. There's a reason why I prefer not to ride often.

" _Muy bien_ ," I reply. We head out onto the trail and remain silent. The rigid paths do little to help my leg, and I'm forced to tighten my grip around Arthur at the sudden throbs of pain. He isn't bothered by it, but his occasional glances over his shoulder display his concern. However, he doesn't slow down.

 

* * *

 

By the time we reach the cabin, the relief that sweeps through me makes me realize just how stressed I've been in the last couple of days. Not just for my leg but because of Arthur as well. I know better than to trust a stranger, especially when they seem to appear out of nowhere. Nevertheless, I'm thankful.

Arthur helps me down from Boadicea and guides me inside. The first thing we notice is how much of a mess the place is. The cupboards are open along with a few of the cabinets along the walls. Anger and disappointment flood my emotions but I try my best not to show it. I already know who did this, and there was no point in whining about it.

"Damn bastards," I mumble, sitting down on a chair next to my bed.

Arthur simply stands there, evaluating the emptiness of the cabin. I can tell he's worried given my state and my current situation. But if there's one thing I won't allow from him, it's pity. He has done so much for me already, and there was no way I was going to let him do anything else.

"Thank you, Arthur, really," I say with a tired smile. "You saved my life. I owe you."

"You don't owe me nothin', miss." His voice is low and heavy. "You didn't deserve bein' treated like that. I was only helpin' ya out."

I shrug lightly. "Sure you were, but it didn't seem to be that way when we first met. You almost had me thinking you were going to kill me."

He's caught off guard at that moment, almost as if someone had seen right through him—which wasn't entirely false. There's a whole other layer to the buff, intimidating Arthur that's always on display. I'm lucky to see that.

He clears his throat and adjusts his hat to cover a little more of his eyes. "Well, I best be headin' out."

"Oh, wait!" I hop over to the end of my bed and reach down through a small crack in the floor, pulling out a lockbox. No one would ever think of looking here, hence why I keep my savings close and hidden. I pull out a clip of money from inside and hold it out to Arthur. "For your time, provisions, and care," I explain.

He moves a step back and shakes his head. "Ad'lita, I can't do that to ya. I already told ya that-"

"Arthur, I wouldn't be here without you, and there's nothing else I can give you," I say pleadingly. "It's something. _Por favor_. Just take it."

He sighs loudly before finally grabbing it and shoving it into his satchel.

"Think you'll be able to get to a doctor in the next day?" he asks, walking to the door.

"Yes. I'll manage."

"Good." He turns back to me and tips his hat once as a goodbye. With that, he's gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	4. Sugarcoated Hesitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to say thank you to those who've given this story a chance! it really means a lot(:

**[1 Month Later]**

 

High society is intriguing but repulsive. There's too much going on, especially when one gets involved with the wrong crowd during a party. Whispers and gossip are hardly lacking, if ever, with the occasional fistfight outside the door. Men and women show off their wealth with proud smiles, but there is always that one person who could care less. Tonight, that would be me.

Being a seamstress in Blackwater doesn't get anyone too far in life, but when one of the richer families suggests a party for the whole town, invitations are passed down from person to person. I believe mine came from the general store manager's client's husband who had received one earlier in the day. So far, it doesn't seem to be a bad idea. However, it's too early to say for sure.

Champagne is passed around freely for everyone. Of course I don't hesitate, mainly because I know how to hold my liquor. All the while the crowds are laughing and joking, doing a wonderful job at displaying their unique grandeur. I can't say I'm not impressed, but there's only so much an outsider can take.

I sip my drink contently in the corner of the room for the time being, though I wish that I didn't have to wear such a tight corset. " _This dress will look absolutely stunning on you, my dear Adelita!"_ Mr. Kretzschmar exclaimed when he pulled the dress out from one of the cupboards the back. It was a deep blue shade with an off-the-shoulder neckline, the skirt long and full. I could only smile and be grateful for such a thoughtful employer and accept the dress. Now I wish that I hadn't.

More guests come throughout the next half hour. As I survey all the faces, something catches my eye. More specifically, someone. Before I can even get a good look at them, they quickly merge in with the rest of the crowd, lost among the sea of black coats and pastel dresses.

I sigh and lower my head back down to my drink, finishing the rest of what's left and grabbing another. I’m about to set my lips on the rim when one of the butlers walks up to me with a faint smile. "A Mr. Callahan would like to see you outside, miss. If you could follow me please." He turns on his heel and begins walking, leaving me no chance to say a word or to decline. I mentally shrug and follow him outside into the garden. What's the worst that could happen? There's still a little sunlight from the evening dusk, but the chilly fall air is merciless in its ability to bite at the skin.

I'm not even sure who this 'Mr. Callahan' is. Perhaps a customer from the shop? Or maybe it’s that man that I met at the bar. No, it must be-

"Here you are, Mr. Callahan," the butler says, stepping to the side.

I look up to the man in front of me, instantly feeling my heart drop to my feet.

Arthur.

He's dressed in a black suit with a gray vest underneath, a far cry from the clothes I first saw him with. He's clean shaven with significantly shorter hair, and, oh god, he looks handsome. I even have to do a double-take to make sure it's really him. I don't even acknowledge the butler's leave in my minute of shock.

"Are ya done starin', or do you need a little more time?" he says, a sly smirk crossing his features.

I clear my throat. "No, no, no, it's just that—well, I didn't expect you to be here. N-not that I don't think you-!"

He holds up a hand, and I close my mouth shut without a second thought. "Well, Miss Ad'lita, I could say the same things 'bout ya. What kinda business do ya have 'round here?"

I hesitate, contemplating whether or not to tell him that I just came here for the drama and the lack of anything better to do. "I, uh, came for the champagne," I blurt out.

He hums lowly, obviously amused by my answer. He takes a sip of his own drink and remains silent. Really? He still keeps that act up here? I don't believe he'll ever lose that side of him for as long as he lives. Falling into occasional moments of nothing but silence seems to be a habit for him. But who am I to talk?

"So, um, Mr. Callahan, is it?" I inquire, swirling the glass gently around. I remain as calm as possible, but it's hard when my heart is beating a thousand miles per hour.

Arthur chuckles and looks out to the garden, a soft smile on his lips. "Only sometimes," he says shaking his head. "But ya don't need to worry 'bout that."

I open my mouth to ask further, but before I can even utter a word, I'm rudely interrupted by the musicians inside the main hall. They have just begun to play some sort of waltz, loud and lively. How convenient.

"How's that leg?" he quickly asks, trying to evade my previous attempt at a question. "All better?"

"Yes, but it gets a little sore if I walk on it for too long."

He nods in understanding and takes another drink. We converse about everything and absolutely nothing—especially on his part—for the next ten minutes. When I try to prod him with personal questions, all I receive is more hesitation and vague answers. If he didn't act like he did all the time then I would've believed him to be the most uninteresting person in the state... but suspicious as well. Perhaps that's what I think of him now, but there's something else. There has to be.

By the time the sun has set, the chilly winds pick up speed. I'm really cold now thanks to my thin dress and lack of warm coverings. Arthur notices my slight shivering and holds his arm out. "Let's get ya inside."

My eyes meet his for a second, and all I can read is concern. I have no choice but to loop my arm in his, setting my hand gently on his forearm. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't touched by his worry; rare was a day when I was taken care of someone else, especially by the same man twice.

We walk inside through the back of the house until we reach the rest of the guests, most of which who are dancing to a slow-paced piece of music. The rest are still conversing by the bar.

Arthur and I remain close as we watch the crowd moving to the soothing rhythm of the waltz. It's been ages since I've danced, but I can't say I miss it too much. Dancing has a way of entertaining and frustrating a person if not done right, so why bother? But, oh, was it fun. Wearing the most colorful shirts with fanned out skirts and the way they created a myriad of rainbows... it was like a dream. Traditional escaramuza dresses were hard to come by since they had to be exported from Jalisco, but that didn't stop my mother from sewing her own. Listening to occasional mariachi bands through our small town in Mexico seemed to make even the bleakest of days a gift, especially when dancing with friends.

My reminiscing is cut short by the gentle touch of a large hand on my back. "You alright?" Arthur asks softly. "Don't look too good."

I press my lips into a thin line and nod stiffly, avoiding his worrying gaze on me. Thankfully, he leaves it be and goes back to leaning against the wall behind us. The notes fall over the hall like a lullaby, beautiful in every shape and sound. I can't help but sway a little, pretending that, maybe, my heavy dress is actually one of my mother's skirts.

The piece ends with an underwhelming and somewhat ugly chord, but it quickly moves on to a much livelier piece. I look over at Arthur and see him practically sulking behind his glass of champagne. If he came here for a party, then why is he so somber? That man confuses the heck out of me, but I suppose there can't be much to be done about it...

I put my hand out and smile. " _Señor Callahan,_ " I tease. "Would you like to dance with me?"

He's in the middle of taking a drink, stopping for a moment to asses what I just said. For the first time since I've met him, he looks afraid, but of course, the expression only lasts for a half a second. He manages to compose himself, not completely but close enough to where he can respond normally.

"Sure."

He sets his glass down and grabs my hand into his, leading both of us to the other couples.

“Do you know how to dance, Arthur?” I ask with a grin.

He lets out a muted chuckle as he slides his hand onto my waist. ”I think I can handle a little waltz, Ad’lita.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. I’m asking because I can’t.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Ya can’t dance?”

"I didn’t say that. I'm simply clueless when it comes to this sort of thing."

The music slows, and suddenly I'm being guided by Arthur's strong hold on my side and hand. I glide along with him, trying to make note of each of the steps he takes. It’s difficult, especially when he isn't exactly the best at saying what I'm doing right or not. He keeps moving and foolishly trusts that I'll be able to learn this complicated pattern in no time.

“There ya go," he says after a minute or two, although I'm pretty sure he's just trying to wave off my feeble attempts at ballroom dancing to make me feel better about myself. "Easy does it...”

“There’s nothing easy about this, Arthur,” I sigh, wobbling slightly. “I can’t even keep a rhythm-"

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

I feel my blood run cold.

Oh, no.

No, no, no... there's no way.

Henry Gilman.

"I know you can hear me, Adelita!"

Shit.

I see him in the corner of my eye, approaching us with a bottle held tightly in his fist. My first instinct is to run, but I don't want to become the one to start drama at this place. I feel Arthur's hold on my hip and hand tighten with each step Henry takes. I do my best to wiggle out of his grasp, but he doesn't relent. All I can do is stay and hope that Henry will slip up and make a fool of himself in front of everyone.

I take a deep breath and smile, facing him with a gentle expression. "Hello, Henry. It's nice to see you here."

"Shut the hell up, you bitch," he growls, stomping even closer. "Don't you think I've forgot about your little stunt back in Saint Denis all those years ago." The rage is evident in his face, and I begin to panic a bit more when it's clear he won't back down.

"Henry, please-"

"Hey, why don't you leave the lady alone, partner?" Arthur moves in front of me, towering over Henry."Ya don't want other people to stare, do ya?"

"I'll do what I damn well please!" Henry protests, voice deep and angry. He raises the bottle high, but before he even has a chance to bring it down, Arthur catches his arm. I quickly back away and watch both men try to push the other off. They're exchanging insults and threats, but it's only when Arthur successfully shoves him away that they stop.

"Don't disturb the lady again," Arthur hisses out. The rest of the room—including the musicians—have fallen silent. No one dares to move. But once Arthur turns his back to Henry, it all goes to hell.

"DAMN YOU, ADELITA!"

At this point some people step in, but I'm pretty sure Arthur manages to land a hard punch across Henry's jaw before being pulled away. Despite it's evident damage, it doesn't stop him. Henry charges at Arthur and the both of them begin their battle. I don't know what prompts bystanders to join in fights that don't have anything to do with them. Yet somehow, it still draws them in. Within seconds almost half of the guests are engaged in some sort of fist fight or brawl against another one or two strangers. Thankfully, it's enough to distract the rest of the crowd and servers from getting to Arthur.

He's able to pry Henry off of himself, still spilling a colorful array of insults. He makes his way towards me and grips my forearm tightly, pulling me away from the mob and back outside to the peaceful but freezing night. There are no words, but he doesn't stop walking until we are a few blocks from the mansion. I spot Boadicea hitched in front of a hotel down the road, waiting patiently as ever.

"Arthur? Arthur, are you alright?" I ask him frantically as we begin to slow down.

He ignores my concerns and keeps moving. I can feel the anger radiate off of him but refuse to let it hinder me from worrying. In fact, it only makes it worse.

“Arthur, please say something.” Desperation clings to my heart, and it only hurts more when he doesn't even spare me a glance. After that incident, I'm suddenly unimportant. Why does he have to act this way? I want to reason with him, but he's given me no choice but to act on the growing frustration inside of my chest.

“ARTHUR! ANSWER ME!”

He immediately whips around, eyebrows raised and astonishment throughout his face. The first thing I notice is the bruise on his right cheek along with a long cut in the center. My breath hitches for a moment, frozen by the realization of what I might have caused. As the seconds tick by, the tension between the both of us dwindles, but what remains is fear.

“I… I’m sorry…” I whisper, almost too quietly. “I’m just... I didn’t mean for you to-“

“Don't—I'm... I'm alright. You are too,” he drawls, although it sounds more like a question than a statement. He faces me completely and lowers his head. If he had his hat on I know I wouldn’t be able to see his eyes; one of his most obvious habits.

“Yes, I am,” I say slowly.

He pauses, taking a breath before nodding. “Well, c’mon. Let’s get ya home.”

 

* * *

 

“I told you it wouldn’t hurt as much, Arthur. Stay still, will you?” I sigh, tired from the stress and events of earlier. I’m trying to clean the wound on his cheek, but it’s difficult when he’s fidgeting like a child.

I can hear him groan, but he finally obeys when I swat his hand away. I dab a wet cloth around the area, careful not to apply too much pressure. I’m no doctor, but I can handle a cut.

“There. That should do it.” I get up from the chair and throw the cloth into a nearby bucket. “You got him real good, though. I’ll give you that.”

He scoffs and rubs his torso. “Yeah, well, I got what I deserved too I guess.”

I smile, but it fades as fast as it came. “You know, Arthur, you didn’t need to do that. We could’ve just run away from there. You saw how drunk he was.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, leaning forward on his elbows. “That son of a bitch got what was comin’ to him. I don’t know why he was mad at ya, but it’s still not right to hit a lady.”

I nod in agreement and sit back down on the chair in front of him. A memory of Saint Denis flashes across my mind, but I shove it to the back of my head. Not now.

I clear my throat. "You're more than welcome to stay for the night. I can fix up some leftover-"

"There's no need to, Ad'lita," he cuts in, adjusting his black suit around his shoulders as he stands up. "I think it'd be best I be on my way now."

"Just for the night, Arthur," I urge, setting a hand on his arm. "You can leave in the morning. Please, it's the least I can do."

He opens his mouth to counter my request but shuts it closed after pondering on his options. "You sure?"

"Positive. Please."

He gives it one final thought before he reluctantly walks outside, coming back a minute later with his regular clothes and, of course, his hat. I make my way into the other room to change. It's difficult dealing with such a large dress by myself, but I manage to almost rip it off of me. I could always patch it up, although I don't see why I would. It's not like I would be invited to another party anytime in the near future.

I return to the main room and see Arthur sitting at the table, already changed into his regular and more comfortable attire. He's focused on writing in a small leather booklet. Perhaps a letter to his family? A cousin? Lover? I don't ask, but it's hard not to be curious. His hat is hung on one of the chairs, looking odd when not being worn by its owner. I walk over to it and pick it up.

Arthur watches me from the corner of his eye as I put it on, shaking his head as I smile to myself. It's far too large for my own head, falling over my eyes when I let go of the rim.

"How long have you had this hat?" I ask, tipping it high enough where I can see in front of me.

"My daddy gave it to me," he replies, keeping his gaze on the pages in front of him. “Long time.”

"Oh? I wouldn't think you would keep something like this from after the way you spoke about him. What was he hung for again?"

A beat of silence. "Stealin'."

I hum. "So was mine. He had already been in some trouble before that but always managed to get out. Never knew how he did it."

I see that he wasn't want to talk about it any further, so I take the hat off and examine it. The leather is heavily worn out as well as the ropes around it. It's fascinating to see just how much a simple hat can mean so much to a person, but then again, sometimes it’s the little things we can only hold on to.

“What do you do, Arthur?” I sit in a chair beside him. “With your life, I mean. One day I wake up to see you saving me in the woods, and the next I see you at one of the most lavish parties Blackwater has ever had.”

He stops his writing and tenses up, almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. With slow movements, he closes the booklet and puts it into his satchel. “Nothin’ too nice,” he begins to say, leaning back. “Been runnin’ all my life.”

“From what?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even know.”

Well, then. “Do you plan on stopping anytime soon?”

“Why would I?”

There’s a slight harshness in his voice. I clear my throat, trying to find words that wouldn’t upset him any further. “W-well, you can’t run forever I guess… can you?”

“Guess not,” he shrugs, but he doesn’t seem to mean it. Whatever life he’s living appears to be good enough for him. I wish I could say the same.

"Well, I hope everything works out for you." I smile sweetly. “We better go to sleep though,” I say with a sigh, getting up. “Long day. Why don’t you take the bed, hm? I'll use my blankets and head into the other room.”

Arthur looks up at me and scoffs. "Really, Ad'lita? I-I can take the other-"

" _Estoy segura._ I'm sure. You're a guest. _Ahora callate_ before I change my mind." I grin and place his hat on his head, knocking it over his face as I walk away. "If you need anything, let me know, alright?"

"Alright," he mumbles quietly. "Thank you."

I go into the next room and close the door, hearing him settle into the bed a minute later.

As I lay on my makeshift mattress of blankets, my thoughts drift through the events of the party, more specifically what happened after we left. The despair on his face... It was if some sort of painful memory had resurfaced. Is that why he ignored me from the mansion to the hotel? I know it's bold to assume, but it's the only explanation I have for now. Despite that, he seemed to be alright once we arrived here. I will have to ask him when I have the opportunity.

With the day's conversations replaying in my mind, I'm lulled into a comfortable sleep.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, I wake up to an empty house. What's left behind is a single piece of paper on the table with my name written at the top:

 

_Adelita,_

_Left a bit of money for you under the pillow. Just a way of saying thanks._

_Arthur M._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a great week!


	5. Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so long, oh my god. i'm so sorry. 
> 
> this is just a filler chapter, but I will definitely have the next chapter within the next week. 
> 
> enjoy!

In the very early hours of the morning, not a single soul stirs awake in camp. Everyone is fast asleep, including the usual night owls that are Uncle, Reverend Swanson, and Sean. Even Davey is nowhere to be seen. This gives Arthur the perfect opportunity to slip in unnoticed, except by the guard stationed at the edge of the camp. Lucky enough it's Lenny's shift, and he simply waves to him with a tired smile.

Once he hitches Boadicea, Arthur sneaks his way quietly through the cluster of tents before reaching his own. Bottles of beer and whiskey are scattered throughout the ground—the aftermath of what was most likely a celebration of another successful heist.

The lack of his own accomplishment gives him a slight sting of envy, especially after it should have been rather easy to find a couple of leads. At least he and Hosea still had something going on for them, but more recon was needed to see how they were going to execute it properly. They were still in the early stages.

He puts his suit and dress pants away, relaxing back against the wagon to wait for everyone else to get up. The first one up is Jack, followed by Tilly and Mary-Beth. The girls’ eyes beam when they see Arthur and quickly make their way over to his tent.

“How was the party, Arthur?” Mary-Beth whispers. “Did ya find anythin’ good?”

His own smile fades, being replaced by a sigh and a shake of his head. “Nah, nothin’ worth our time.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.” She wrings her hands together, exchanging a glance with the woman beside her. “Tilly and me… we might have somethin’ for ya.”

Arthur perks up. “A lead?”

“Maybe. You heard of Strawberry?” Tilly asks.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Little ways up north?”

She nods. “That’s it. They’ve been tryin’ to make it some sorta ‘culture center’ or somethin’ like that, ya know, tourism. Don’t know much about it, but we thought ya might wanna check it out sometime.”

Arthur hums and scratches his chin. “Okay, then. I might. Thank you, ladies.”

They tip their heads and make their way to start the day’s chores. The lead might be a good one, but he doesn’t want to abandon the one he’s already working on with Hosea. It seems promising enough. He’s about to go see if Dutch is awake, but a small voice stops him in his tracks.

“Uncle Arthur! Uncle Arthur!”

The man whips his head around, spotting little Jack holding up a stack of flat rocks in his hands. “Hey, Jack.” He bends down. “Whatchu got there?”

“I found them yesterday while you were gone. Why are they so flat?” he asks, turning them around between his fingers. “Why aren’t they ‘round like the others?”

“That’s because they were made for skippin’,” Arthur says with a grin.

“Skipping?”

“Sure. Ya don’t know what skippin’ rocks is?”

The boy shakes his head, looking up at him.

“Well, how about we go down to the shore and I’ll-“

“Arthur!” Dutch’s voice rings across the camp, an alarm for anyone who’s still asleep. “A word?”

Jack's face falls at the mention of Arthur's name, but the older man is quick to put on a smile and ruffle the kid's hair. "Keep them rocks. I'll take you there soon, ya hear?"

With a smile of his own and a nod, Jack makes his way back to a beaming Abigail. She mouths a silent 'thank you' to Arthur before turning to her little one. He makes a mental note of not seeing John anywhere near them... as usual.

He walks over to Dutch's tent, seeing him already smoking his morning cigarette. "We're you able to find anything at the party?" he asks, leaning against a post.

Arthur shakes his head and opens his mouth to explain, but second thoughts cause him to snap it shut. Should he mention Adelita? How because of her he had to make a swift and early exit, away from any good potential leads? No, of course not. He knows he hasn't been bringing a sufficient amount of money to the camp recently, but after completing the job with Hosea, that will change. It's safe, quiet, and easy enough to go about without all the drama. He just needs time.

"Nah, nothin'. Just a bunch of loudmouths with nothin' better to do."

Dutch hums and takes a drag from his cigarette. "Shame. Really thought that might've done something for us. You still on that lead with Hosea?"

The younger nods and rests his hands on his belt. "He's been thinkin' about goin' down to Blackwater and givin' it a closer look in a few days."

"Good, good. I'm gonna send Tilly and Lenny with you, have them scope out the town just a little further. There might be some cash there, who knows. Hopefully enough to get us moving again."

The two men discuss what the plan is after Blackwater, but nothing is set in stone. Words and intentions are vague on Dutch’s part, but Arthur shrugs it off and hopes that he’ll be able to figure it out soon. He’s eager to find that beautiful West and finally be able to spend the rest of his life in peace, away from the threat of that dreaded civilization. Of course, he doesn't allow himself to be consumed completely by such a dream. There's always a chance it won't come to fruition.

The morning comes and goes quickly through a series of chores, most of which involve heavy lifting. Arthur can safely say that he is perhaps the fittest among the gang, but doesn't look for any sort of confirmation just yet. John, Bill, and Javier could easily match him... although Bill might be a little on the slow side.

"Good work, Arthur," Hosea says as he walks over to him, a cup of water in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. "Looks like you could use a break, huh? Haven't seen you take a minute of rest. Wish I could be half as nimble as you are."

Arthur chuckles and grabs both of the items, taking a seat at the table. "Well, you still got some fight left in ya, that's for sure."

Hosea can only smile at the compliment and sit down across from him. The older man is certainly past his prime, but old age hasn't been as bad as others play it out to be. With the ever-looming threat of danger upon their heads, it keeps him on his toes and never lets his mind wander too far. No wonder he's lived this long; he practically has no choice but to do so.

Both of them enjoy the silence of the camp for a little bit as Arthur eats his lunch quietly. The older man waits for him to finish before he continues on with a question.

"About last night's party...?"

Arthur grumbles. "What about it?"

“No leads, huh?” His voice is sharp but dull enough not to sound too accusatory.

There’s a pause as Arthur wipes his mouth slowly with his sleeve, avoiding Hosea’s glare on him. He scoffs and shakes his head. “I got distracted, alright? Nothin’ serious. Had to leave early.”

“What happened, Arthur? Because from what I can tell, it must’ve been a pretty serious problem if you had to leave a party full of good potential leads.”

If Arthur was ten years younger, he would have run away from camp until he finally found the courage to face the man. Now he has responsibilities. With that comes the embarrassing feeling of confronting mistakes. Still, he keeps his mouth shut and hopes that it will be enough for Hosea to understand that he does regret his poor decision.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Nothin' to worry a-“

"What caused it in the first place?” he demands.

There's a mumble followed by a sigh. "A lady."

"And what did this lady do to distract you?"

Arthur grinds his teeth and taps his fingers on the table out of both anxiety and impatience. There is no way he was about to go into detail about Adelita. Not now.

“Some bastard was botherin’ her. I didn’t have a choice but to fend him off,” he explains nonchalantly, not daring to look at the man in front of him.

Hosea hums before nodding and gets up. “Alright then. Just try to keep your head on your shoulders the next time,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. As much as he enjoys pestering him about such mistakes, he can tell that there's something about this certain encounter that set him on edge. Nevertheless, it's in the past, so there's no point for him to keep on reprimanding him.

Arthur nods and takes in one last spoonful of stew, eyes shut as he thinks about the conversation he just had. It's no surprise that Hosea sensed that something was off, but that only told Arthur that he had to be more careful. More importantly, he has to start bringing in a few more leads in. Dutch hadn't said anything earlier, but it never hurts to keep giving. Of course, neither is receiving. Maybe that lead in Strawberry is worth something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment what you think so far! it would mean a lot to me! 
> 
> have a good day(:


	6. Done and Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't forget to leave any sort of feedback! it would be extremely helpful! 
> 
> enjoy(:

**[1 Week Later]**

 

Following Arthur's disappearance, I found myself thinking more and more about him. The things he said about himself were nothing short of interesting, yet anyone could see the little hope he held on to. Running for a lifetime can take a toll on a person, especially when one doesn't know why they're running to begin with. I wonder what will become of him in the future.

On another note, Blackwater hasn't stopped talking about the fight at the party since that night. Luckily, no one seemed to catch my face or Arthur's for that matter. Henry was arrested, but word on the street says that he'll be let off within the next week. If the law only knew what he had going on in Saint Denis... I'm surprised no one has snuffed out that wretched brothel. In fact, I'm surprised it still exists considering the state that man is always in. Choleric to the extreme of never letting go of a bottle, even when enjoying himself.

Nevertheless, hearing it from others makes the entire incident seem like any other news. For now, I decide to stick to the shop and avoid wandering much through the town... despite its mundanity.

"Ardass?"

"Check."

"Baft?"

"Check."

"Camaca?"

"Che- wait, no. We're out of that."

Mr. Kretzschmar clicks his tongue and writes down on his ledger. The bimonthly routine stock checks of the textiles we have take hours to complete but have to be done. The clientele this shop has could rival the one over in Saint Denis, meaning that we always had to be on our game. It took its toll on my legs though. Climbing up and down a ladder could be exhausting.

"Alright, then. Crin?"

"Check."

"Shantung?"

"We ran out last-"

The bell from the front door rings and Mr. Kretzschmar automatically sets his book down before going out to greet the customers. I take my time to lower myself from the seemingly high tower and relax once my feet hit the ground. Damn ladder.

“Good morning,” Mr. Kretzschmar sings out. “How may I help you?”

I walk out from the back and see a young couple with big smiles on their faces. I focus on the lady, her dark complexion contrasting beautifully with a baby blue dress, her hair in a perfect braid wrapping around her head. The man beside her looks equally as polished with a navy blue suit on.

“We were wonderin’ if you might have some skirts in stock?” The young lady asks. Her voice is rich in accent but it adds on a bit of charm along with the rest of her visuals.

“Why, of course we do!” Mr. Kretzschmar smiles and turns to me. “Adelita, would you please take this young lady and show her what we have in the back? I’ll show this gentleman what we have out here."

I nod and gesture for her to follow me. Once we are out of sight, I turn to her. "Are you looking for anything specific, Mrs...?"

"Jackson," she says with a grin. "And it's 'miss.' I ain't lookin' for a partner just yet. He's just my brother."

"Oh, I apologize, Miss Jackson. If you come over here..." I lead her to where we keep most of our skirts, telling her that if she needs something custom made I'd be more than happy to make it. Thick cotton to fancy silks line one side of the room, while the other is covered in different shelves and drawers with the skirts and some pants.

"Quite the business you got here," Miss Jackson says as she looks around. "I take it these fabrics are expensive?"

I let out a chuckle and put out a few skirts I think might fit her. "The textile industry is becoming more and more lucrative, so many of these are hard to come by."

She hums and turns back to me. Through the next fifteen minutes, I show her all that we have and help her try a few of them on. Frankly, I would choose any of them for her. They work that well. However, she doesn't take any of them.

"Maybe you could make me one out of that yellow cotton fabric?" She points up to one that sits at the very top of a shelf. It's one of our lesser expensive ones, but lovely nonetheless.

"Of course, I could even make it into a dress if you'd like me to. It would take me about a week or so."

Her eyes light up at the idea and nods excitedly. I can't help but smile. What a sweet woman.

After taking her measurements and writing them down, she leaves with her brother, thanking me extensively with a wave.

"Nicely done, my dear!" Mr. Kretzschmar praises once they're gone. "It's been a while since we've had a custom dress made. Do you think you can handle that?"

I nod. "Yes, I believe I can, Mr. Kretzschmar," I reply with confidence.

"Great! Now let's get back to those stock checks!"

 

* * *

 

I let out a yawn as I write a few numbers down on a sheet. Luckily, it's almost closing time and I'm ready to get home. My stomach has been growling through the last hour to the point where it's beginning to irritate me. Perhaps some rabbit stew for dinner would be enough to satisfy it.

I file the paper into a drawer and get up, noticing the sun has already set. Mr. Kretzschmar said he would be back in thirty minutes to go buy something at the general store, but that was an hour ago. Great.

What's even better is the annoying chime of front door's bell going off. I mentally groan. _Who would come to a tailor shop this late in the evening?_

I peek my head out from behind the doorway, seeing a group of three odd-looking men standing in the middle of the room with their backs turned to me. Their voices are hushed as they converse eagerly amongst each other, probably arguing about some silly old thing. With a tired smile, I walk out and greet them.

"Hello, gentlemen. How may I help you?"

One of the men turns to me, and I feel dread hit my core when I see a red bandana over his face. However, that view is quickly obscured by a pistol pointing right at me. The corners of his eyes scrunch up and I can only infer that he's smiling. "Good evening, miss. This is a robbery, so would you be as kind as to lead me to where you keep the money?" His voice is coarse yet clear, and I can hear the experience of the lines in between his words. He must've done this a thousand times already. "If you do this quietly, no harm will come to you."

I let my mouth hang open, and I feel like a fish out of water. Maybe it's because I can't find any air to breathe in properly... or maybe because I'm too afraid to even try. My heart races nonetheless, terrified of the men in front of me.

"I-I don't know where they keep the money," I reply dumbly, my voice quivering uncontrollably. "I just w-work here as a s-s-seamstress..."

The man laughs. "Looks like she needs a little persuading! Mr. M, Mr. W, would you two please take her to the back? I'll deal with this cash register and whatever else is out here." He pulls his pistol away, revealing the other two men, also with bandanas, already walking towards me. One of them is big, probably big enough to snap me in half if he wanted to. The other man is leaner and fitter, but he's also—

Oh, my god. Arthur.

There's no denying it's him; the hat, the blue shirt, even the black bandana around his mouth does nothing to make me doubt that it’s him. He's just as shocked as I am, eyes wide as if he had just seen a ghost. Before I have a chance to say anything, the bigger man shoves me harshly with the end of his rifle, almost knocking me over.

"Get a move on, girly. We ain't got all night."

I have no choice but to obey. I force my gaze away from Arthur, staggering in my steps until we make it to the back of the shop. The bigger man instructs him to stay with me so he can take a look at the rest of the area. “Gotta be quick. Boss said that he wants this done as clean as possible.”

“I know what he damn said,” Arthur sneers in his direction.

With a roll of his eyes, the man exits down the hall.

I’m still frozen in place, watching as Arthur holsters his revolver. He glares at me. "Ad'lita, just give me what ya have here and we'll get outta here."

"You're an outlaw," I whisper, realization hitting me like a bag of bricks. It all makes sense. The wandering, the running, the party... this. Now it seems so obvious, but why couldn't I see it before? Was he playing me for a fool? If he was, I guess he got me.

I begin to back away slowly, feeling my last bit of courage seep through my lips. "No, I can't give you anything...you know that. I just can't."

"Then you'll tell me where you're keepin' it," he growls, taking a step closer to me. "We need that money."

Anger replaces my fear all too quickly at his words. Need? They _need_ the money? "It's not my fault you need money, Arth-!" I muffle the rest of my accusation, silenced by one of his large gloved hands around my mouth and nose. I bring my hands up to try and pry it off, but it's no use.

He leans in closer. “Give me that money now, miss. This was supposed to be easy, but ya ain’t makin’ it now.”

I squirm under his grasp, looking at him with pleading eyes. This isn't the Arthur I know—the gentle, quiet Arthur—but who am I kidding? I've only known him for a total of three days, maybe even less. Anyone could hide themselves for that long. As much as I wish I wasn't so surprised, I unfortunately am. Going as far as robbing a tailor shop just a few yards away from the police department? One must be very brave or very stupid, but nevertheless a bad person.

"So, are ya gonna tell me where it is?" His grip loosens around my mouth, allowing me a breath of air. However, the dust on his gloves doesn't do me any good. I begin to cough and point to a lockbox underneath a cutting table.

"Th-that's all we have..." I wheeze out, rubbing my neck. "I swear."

He huffs and walks over to the table, promptly opening the box and taking the stacks of bills that are inside.

"Got some company!" The big man runs past the room and out to the shop. "Plenty of lawmen! Morgan, get your ass over here!"

_Morgan?_

I turn and see Arthur already running out to the other men, a rifle secured in his hands. He doesn't even spare me a glance as he does, too focused on the situation at hand.

"Someone must've seen us," I hear the first man say. I crawl to the doorway and stretch my head out far enough to see the three of them shielding themselves behind the counter. "We'll have to get out of here another way. Bill, see if you can find something in the back. Arthur, with me."

I scurry back into the room as I see the big man run right past me. There is no back door or any sort of escape route for that matter. All that's there are shelves upon shelves for storage. The only way in or out is through the front door. The man reports his findings and runs over to the others.

“There’s no way, Dutch. That’s the only way out,” he says.

“Then we’ll have to make a run for it. Ready, boys?”

A brief pause of silence falls over them. Then the gunfire begins without warning. Yells are exchanged among the three of them, but it’s too loud to discern any words. I don’t move from my spot, hoping and praying that they leave as fast as possible. Eventually, all the commotion moves outside. I can hear the screams of women and the orders of more cops near the back of the shop muffled together in a frenzy of panic. It seems to reach a peak with the sound of whistles and the vibrations of the horses’ hoofbeats that surround the area.

The shots cease after about a minute, but the town doesn’t fall quiet. Footsteps storm into the building and I hear that once chipper voice calling out for me.

“Adelita? Adelita, are you here?” Mr. Kretzschmar yells out, his voice as scared as could be, and I have to gather all my thoughts before I can respond.

“I’m in the back, sir,” I breathe out. “I’m… I’m okay I think.”

He shuffles over to the room where I’m still leaning against the doorway. He kneels down and carefully sets a hand on my head. “Oh, miss, I’m glad you’re alright. Does anything hurt?”

"No, I'm fine," I say a little too hastily. I get up despite the numbness in my legs and stumble over to the front window. Disbelief shrouds my mind once I see about ten bodies lying lifeless on the road, a few of which are civilians.

"I saw one of those men going through the register when I was making my way back," he explains, trying to pull me away from the scene. I resist his efforts and remain in place, thinking how someone like Arthur could have done something like this.

Arthur.

An outlaw.

"Mr. Kretzschmar?" I turn to him.

"Yes, Miss Morgan?"

I feel my chest constrict at the name. "Is it alright if I go on home?"

He shakes his head. "Alone? Not at all. I'll be escorting you. Heaven knows who is out there at a time like this. Go gather your things immediately and we will be on our way."

I nod and take one last glance through the window before retreating further into the shop. Dear, Lord...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you and have a great week!


	7. Let Her Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! it's spring break for me and despite the much needed rest, i haven't really given this story the necessary time. i'll try my best to get these chapters out faster!
> 
> thank you to those who have given this fic a chance!
> 
> enjoy!

Midnight. Almost three hours have passed since the robbery at the shop, and yet nothing in me has had the ability to calm itself in that amount of time. My muscles tighten at any small sound, afraid that he will promptly appear from the shadows with a weapon held in his fist. The image of that black cloth obscuring the rest of his face hasn't left any more room inside my mind. It's as if he didn't want me to rest.

My heart almost bursts as soon as I hear hoof beats off in the distance. They ride up to the side of the house and skid to a stop, being replaced by loud footsteps that make their way up the porch in hastened fashion. There's a pause... and then a knock at the door. I take a deep breath and force myself to relax as much as possible.

Another knock, this time stronger and more urgent. Then his voice. His _soft_ , _gentle_ voice. "Ad'lita? Are ya here?" he calls out. Of course, my voice doesn't dream of answering. All that it leaves is the painfully thick tension in the air.

He yells again. I listen to his pleas, a sudden wave of anger flooding my body with heat, recalling the events of the evening. How could've he just stood there, watching me be thrown around and ordered like a rag doll? Not only was it humiliating, but it was also betraying. After spending so much time with him in the woods, inviting him to my home, the party... he didn't have the decency let me be and perhaps stop the robbery? Or was his pride just too precious for him to lose? In the end, he saved my life. That's admirable, especially for an outlaw such as himself. But it doesn't justify what he did.

It doesn't matter, for that one word still lingers in my mind... that name...

Morgan.

Now, he might mean something more to me.

Everything makes sense; the hanging, the stealing... the free and dangerous outlaw life. But the age. He’s older than me, that’s for certain, but the chance of it being true isn't a completely outrageous thing... is it?

Truly, what a coward I am.

I walk to the door and carefully pull it open. There he is, not a single detail out of place from the few hours of earlier. Only this time I can see the old Arthur, one that isn't full of determination nor hostility like the other one. I don't feel fear at the presence of his body in front of mine. In fact, it's neutral, dare I say, almost comforting to see him there. But I can’t help it when my eyes are drawn to the bandana secured around his neck.

“Arthur,” I say breathless, weak. “Please… could you just… leave me alone?”

He takes a pressing step in my direction, and I take one back, keeping the same distance between us. I open my mouth to ask him again, but he cuts me off without hesitation.

“Adelita, I didn’t want to hurt ya. I swear. I shouldn’t have handled ya like that so carelessly." His voice is forced, strained. "I didn't have a choice. You gotta understand that it ain't so easy dealin' with those kinds of things.” It almost hurts to hear him as he struggles with finding the right words to apologize with. The longer he goes, the more I draw into myself. Not once do I hear an 'I'm sorry' escape through his lips. It only causes the genuineness of his feelings to fade.

I hardly register his hands grip my arms gently when he walks up to me. All I can feel is their cold and begging, unwanted nature.

“Adelita?” Arthur says after a minute of my silence. “Adelita, look at me.”

I slowly shift my gaze up at him. The shadows in the room are cast over his eyes, just like that damn hat.

“Listen, I’m... I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I shoulda done somethin’ about it. I shoulda taken ya outside-“

“Taken me outside?” I blanch, feeling that trembling mix of disappointment and fear fill my heart with even more worry. How would the act and moving me outside have changed anything? For all I know, I could have been one of those civilians shot in the head, dead just a few seconds following the shootout. "Did you want me to die? Just like the others you put a bullet through?"

"No, that ain't what I mean, Ad'lita." He pauses, fumbling over his thoughts once more, trying to find more delicate words to use. "I just mean that it shouldn't have been you there, at the shop. If it wasn't you, I wouldn't have done that to ya—to hurt ya."

Excuses. That's what they are. Wishful thinking that is meant to sound like some sort of good intention. All I can hear are guilt-ridden phrases molded into one large sorry form of an excuse. If my mind wasn't so preoccupied with that name, I'm sure I would've drawn out a gun and threatened to shoot him on the spot. But, of course, I wouldn't have the strength to even utter the words. I don't even have the courage to stop his frantic speech of regret. Because of that, I simply step away from his hold and walk to the chair at the table.

Arthur stops almost as soon as I sit down. I can tell by the way his face softens that he knows his efforts in reconciliation are futile. They don't make a difference. At least for now.

A curtain of silence envelopes us for the umpteenth time since we've met. He cautiously moves to farthest wall from the table and leans back against it, head lowered and arms crossed.

There's something about these moments that are just _too_ natural for the both of us. They settle upon the atmosphere without warning, allowing us to ponder over things that were said and things we are going to say. It even lets us speculate what the other is thinking, further preparing us for any subject matter or topic that will be discussed.

Judging by the way Arthur keeps his gaze down, I can only infer he's waiting for me to say the first word. He’s already said his bit, it’s my turn. My turn to make a fool out of myself and hope that this ends soon. It brings a disturbing laugh of absurdity to my head, but it quickly fades once I glance at him again.

“It’s your last name,” I finally say, but it’s barely above a whisper. “Morgan.”

He looks up at me. “What?”

“That man… he said Morgan,” I say carefully, “When he ran out from the back… y-your name.” I know I’m not making sense, for all I see in front of me is a blank, confused expression. A surge of frustration builds up in my chest. “Arthur Morgan,” I breathe out.

”Jesus, Ad’lita, calm yourself." He straightens up, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at me. “What the hell do you mean?”

There’s no choice. I have to say something; even if everything inside me doesn’t want to.

“My... well, I... er, it's nothing... nothing.” I clear my throat, trying to hide the obvious worry in my words. “Y-Your name is familiar, that’s all,” I simply say.

There’s no fooling him. He’s used to it. Lying, deceiving... I’m sure he’s seen it all. Although he can see right through me, he doesn’t ask any further. It's clear that he's suspicious, but he knows his boundaries. At this point, there's no use in telling him. Perhaps he would think me crazy or deluded or maybe stretching it too far. On what solid evidence did I have my claim? For now, I had nothing. And I wasn’t about to do an inquiry.

 

* * *

 

A fog settles upon the plains, hot and sticky by the time dawn rolls around. Sleep was in no way helpful during the night. I rise from my bed, eyes heavy with fatigue and desire to go back to my dream. I force myself to shake it away, getting up and stretching my arms. Arthur is nowhere to be seen, but Boadicea is still standing outside, munching happily on some fresh grass. I had asked Mr. Kretzschmar if he wanted me to come in for the day, but he implored me to stay home for the next couple of days. As much as I want to help with the shop, I'm house ridden.

My mind wanders aimlessly as I pour some water into a small bucket. I would have to go to the river later for some more. The evening would be best, for the weather wouldn’t be so irritable. I walk outside, immediately spotting Arthur lying against the wall on the porch. His knee is propped up, arm resting on it with his hat pulled over his eyes. I would have expected him to leave, but a part of me is thankful that it isn’t the case. It wasn’t until he stepped outside last night that the tension had finally faded away. But now, seeing him, all I feel is the effect of the embarrassing episode I had.

I walk over to a water trough on the other side of the house and pour the water in. I repeat the trip two more times, bringing out a couple of carrots the third round. Boadicea watches me from a distance, clearly interested in the treats. I set them down beside Arthur before going back inside.

The day progresses slowly along with the slow cooling of the temperature. I don't see Arthur when I go back outside around noon, but Boadicea's presence still by the house tells me he mustn't have gone too far. The lack of a couple of buckets in their regular places gives me a hint of his whereabouts.

As I prepare dinner, cutting up the necessary vegetables and meats, I can't stop thinking about his name.

Morgan. Morgan. Morgan.

An outlaw.

It's too good to be true. Maybe it's an overreaction. Overthinking. That has to be it.

There is no way I'm in any way related to him. Chance has a funny way into changing things, sure, but something like this? It just has to be a coincid-

"Woah, woah, hey," Arthur's voice shakes me out of my concentration, hands pulling me away from the countertop. I realize after a moment how fast I had been chopping the ingredients, caught up in a mild panic of silly ideas. Dear lord, why am I like this?

I lower the knife that's tightly secured in my hand and pull away from his grasp. I mumble a "sorry" and "thank you" before setting the knife down and wiping my hands on my skirt. I glance at the two buckets of water beside the doorway. I guess I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't hear him come in.

I put everything into the pot, including a few herbs, and let it simmer for the next hour. Arthur is outside, cleaning one of his repeaters while humming a quiet tune. I've never heard it before.

"Think you'll be alright if I go on my way?" he asks once I walk out of the house. He doesn't look up at me, keeping his focus on the barrel of the gun.

 _No, no of course I won't be_. "Thought you might want to stay for dinner."

"Didn't know you was invitin' me."

I sigh and mentally roll my eyes. "Wash up before you come in. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

"Yes, ma'am."

I serve our bowlfuls of stew and set them down on the table. Arthur comes in a second later wiping his hands off with a rag. "Smells good," he says. I nod and take my seat.

Seeing Arthur take his first bite... it was almost as if it were judgment day for me. I never cooked for anyone else except for myself, so experience is lacking on my side. I watch for any sudden movements or twists of the face, but there's nothing. The only hint of a verdict is how fast he gulps down the rest, another bowl right after it.

I haven't even touched my spoon.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

I clear my throat. "About last night... the robbery."

He hums, leaning back in his chair. He eyes me carefully. "Go on."

"Who... Who were those men with you? I-I mean... do you... are you part of their group?"

I'm not sure if I've said something wrong or if he's just not wanting to talk about it. Either way, his features are pulled down by a frown that brings that wisp of intimidation back to his aura. I'm not frightened by it this time, but still, the sense of guilt lingers in my gut. I would understand if he doesn't want to say anything, but I know that I deserve to learn these things. Playing the victim card won't help me with this.

"Van der Linde gang," he says quietly.

I feel my pulse quicken at the name. "Dutch van der Linde? _The_ Dutch van der Linde?"

Arthur chuckles dryly. "I don't reckon there are any other 'Dutch van der Lindes' 'round these parts."

The air is knocked out of me with a single blow of astonishment. One of the most notorious names in the West... out here? Word travels fast and when it happens to be of one of the few strongest gangs standing, it's worth the attention.

"Well, you don't hear much of anyone out here anymore," I shrug, trying not to let my fear show through. "Why are you on this side of the country? Doesn't it seem a bit too...risky?"

"We'll be movin' once we got enough money," he clarifies, but the hesitation in his words is evident. "It'll be soon."

I nod, grabbing my utensil and poking a few pieces of meat in the dish. "I don't imagine that money will be coming from Blackwater, right?"

He says nothing, but it's an understood answer. There's no way they would try anything like it for the next few days after last night. Perhaps the next few weeks. Blackwater isn't the best place to take from, not usually. At least not now.

"I'll be on my way," he suddenly says, getting up from his seat. "They'll be expectin' me."

I wave my hand in his direction, watching as he grabs his things from the edge of the table. "Have a good night, Arthur."

He tips his hat, but his eyes don't meet mine. Why I don't feel surprised is beyond me. But just as he's about to walk through the doorway, he stops and turns his head slightly back to me. "I'm... I'm sorry," he mutters, "I really am."

 _Sorry_. "Good night, Mr. Morgan."

He nods stiffly and walks out. It isn't long before I hear the hoofbeats retreat from the house. I sigh and begin to eat my now cold meal, staring at the lone pencil he left behind laying in front of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't be shy about commenting! i really appreciate any sort of feedback(:
> 
> have a good week!


	8. They Never Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! sorry this took more than a month to post. i've been drowning in essays. luckily, i have already started the other chapter and will try to have it posted as soon as possible!
> 
> thank you and have a good day!

**[1 Month Later]**

 

"No."

"Ah, c'mon, compadre! We'll be back in no time. You've been cooped up here for a while now. I'm not the only one who has noticed."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, arms tightly crossed on his chest. For as much as he would like to go on a leisurely stroll, he's avoided Blackwater for a reason. Patrols haven't taken kindly to the shop robbery, and it seems like they've hired a few Pinkertons to scope out the town since then.

"It's a fool's errand, Javier. ’Specially for me. I don't think I should be out there at a time like this."

"It's just a drink. And what if there might be a lovely lady...?"

The man sighs and shakes his head, defeated. There's no way he's going to talk his way around this one. "Fine. But if it comes down to it, you're gonna spend the night by yourself. I'll come back to camp."

Javier raises his arms with a shrug. "Fair enough, amigo. _Vamos_."

They mount their horses and head out for Blackwater. The cool September breeze feels amazing after the scorching summer heat, but no one’s going to be wishing for winter to be coming any sooner. During their ride, Javier tells of Mexico's year-round warm climate and how snow is only a myth to the people except when it falls on the peaks of mountains. Arthur listens politely, trying his best to make sense of a few Spanish words he throws in every once in a while. It reminds him of Adelita and her way of talking.

The evening is still young upon the town once they arrive. They hitch their horses close by the saloon. Arthur glances around him every so often, noticing the peculiar staring in their direction. It's never been an issue, so he lets it go. Better to stare than to say anything, but it slightly worries him. He hasn’t seen a single agent or patrol strolling around. He knows that he’s already pushing his luck.

They make their way inside and sit down at a small table in the corner.

"A couple of beers please," he calls out to the bartender. The man nods and swiftly brings out two bottles their way.

"Anything else, gentlemen?"

Arthur shakes his head and hands him a few coins. The friends clink their bottles together, toasting to health and wellbeing before taking a sip of their beers.

Conversation is light and enjoyable at first. The more drinks, the looser the tongue. Nothing much other than that comes out of it, but it's more than enough for them.

"Where's the tailor shop you guys robbed last month?" Javier suddenly asks, volume low. "Bill kept complaining about how the plan was 'doomed from the very beginning' and all that nonsense. Was it really?"

Arthur sighs and leans back into his chair, taking a swig of a new bottle. He's good at knowing when to stop for the day, and it's clear he's nowhere near that limit if it means he can still recall the events of that evening. No one at camp ever spoke about it—not that he knew of. The take wasn't even ideal... and not to mention the mess with Adelita...

"Yeah, I guess so. The sheriff was right next to the place," he explains. "Didn't take long for 'em to catch on."

“Why did he even go after it then?”

Arthur shrugs and keeps his head down. He wasn’t in the best mood to talk about any of it.

Javier chuckles and raises his bottle. "Well, let's hope for better opportunities, _sí_?"

They toast again, but before they can put the glass to their lips, a whistle on the other side of the room catches their attention. They both turn just in time to see a group of three men calling to a young woman as she makes her way to the doors. She sighs but not before glancing back at the bartender and thanking him. She walks out, head low, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The remarks from the group don’t stop until she’s out of sight.

No one says anything. Instead, they turn their attention back to their drinks and continue to converse.

“How about we head over to that shop?” Javier offers before finishing the bottle. “I could always use a new jacket.”

No, there’s no way Arthur would go. He's almost certain that she would be there now, organizing, writing, or doing whatever she usually does. She would be busy with another customer, helping them with a fitting or something. Nope. He would be staying at the saloon.

“Nah, they might recognize me or somethin’. I’ll wait for ya here.”

Javier eyes Arthur before shrugging lightly. “Alright then, suit yourself. I’ll be back later.” He gets up and walks to the exit, leaving a few bills behind on the bar. “If you change your mind, I’ll be there.”

With a nod, Arthur watches him leave the building. The soft snickering in the corner continues for the next five minutes, up to the point where he can’t stand it anymore. He gets up, nods once to the bartender (who seems to apologize about the group of men), and makes his way outside.

“Hey there, girl.” He walks up to Boadicea and reaches into his satchel, producing an apple and carrot. The mare doesn’t hesitate to eat the treats and nudges his hands to see if there’s any more. Just as he's about to fetch for more, a loud and almost hair-raising shriek echoes through the air.

“Arthur!”

He turns around, noticing a small figure in the distance waving its arm. It's frantic as it runs closer, dress blowing every which way, that long braid flying in all directions. She's getting tired, but her legs push her further and further with each stride. Stunned, he begins to walk towards her, a strange sense of concern building in his chest. He can see it once she's only a few yards away: fear—fear and a hint of desperation in her eyes.

“Arthur! Please, please get me out of here,” she gasps. Her body practically falls into his arms, her breathing heavy from the physical strain. Sobs are quick to fill in for any salutations between them.

He pulls her up, searching her face for any sign of injury. He notices a couple of blood stains on her sleeve and carefully pushes back the fabric over her shoulder. There are two cuts on her arm, deep and fresh.

“Christ, what happened to ya?” he asks, pulling her against his side.

“He... he got me...” Her cheeks are red with exhaustion. “Henry... he found me at the shop a-and said that he w-was going to take me back to-“

“Oh, goodness. What do we have here?” A humorless chuckle emanates from the corner where she ran out from. A young man reveals himself in a suit and tie, golden hair combed back with a cigarette between his fingers. Another man follows after, large and burly to the point where he could almost resemble a giant. The first man eyes Arthur for a few seconds before laughing and taking a drag. "You're her knight in shining armor from that party, ain't you? Interesting."

"And I s’ppose you're that no good drunkard that had a bottle in his fist," Arthur retorts. He pushes Adelita behind him. "Looks like you’ve cleaned up your act since then."

"No thanks to you, surely. Now, if you could please let me have a word with Miss Ade-“

“I don’t think so, partner," Arthur cuts in. "Don't look like she's wantin' to talk to ya right now. Why not just leave her alone?"

Henry hesitates for a fraction of a second before letting a large grin spread across his face. It sends chills through Adelita as she grips Arthur’s jacket a little tighter. He keeps one hand on her arm, hovering the other above his holster.

“Well, I certainly don’t want this to become an issue, especially here." Henry glances at the few patrons who are beginning to circle around the small group. Their whispers are suddenly audible to Arthur's ears, and he feels his hand automatically drop down to his side. "If you can be so kind as to hand her over, peacefully, I promise you'll never have to see me again."

God, if only Adelita's arm wasn't shaking against his back, he might have been able to come up with a feasible plan of escape. However, that's all he can think about. Her nerves are vicious to the touch, and her quick and shallow breaths almost cause him to feel the same level of panic. He squeezes her forearm in an attempt to calm her, but all he receives is a squeak of pain in return.

The tension is getting close to unbearable. Both men recognize that neither will escape without a lawman being alerted immediately. There’s no guarantee one hasn’t been already.

“I’ll tell you what, mister,” Henry begins, walking slowly over to him. “I can see you won’t be giving her up so easily. I’ll let you two go. There’s clearly a misunderstanding on your part, but I’m sure Miss Adelita here will inform you of certain details. Perhaps then will it become clear as to why she needs to come with me.”

Quick to add a dashingly sick grin, he tips his head and turns away, his brawn counterpart following close behind.

Arthur watches them until they disappear behind a far corner before looking back and seeing Adelita's head buried in the back of his shoulder. She's shaking like a leaf, her fearful sobs muted against the fabric of his jacket.

“Let’s get outta here,” Arthur says after a moment. "I'll take you home and-"

"No!" She cries out immediately. Her eyes are pooled with heavy tears, but there's a sort of determined plea behind them. "I won't be safe there... He already knows where I work. He won't hesitate to ask for where I live."

With another glance around the sidewalk, most bystanders move on, disinterested in the aftermath of a fruitless quarrel. However, a waving hand catches his eye. It's Javier, leading both of their horses by the end of the road. Adelita spots him too, an evident wave of relief washing over her.

"That man... h-he helped me escape the shop," she says. "He fended Henry off..."

"Well, I s'ppose he'll be helpin' ya again." Arthur grabs her wrist and walks over, all the while making sure no one is following them. "Why didn’t that bastard go after ya sooner when he saw you at that party?”

“He’s too drunk for his own good sometimes,” she explains quietly. “And your beating... I reckon he couldn’t remember much after that.”

" _¿Estás bien, señorita?_ " Javier asks once they reach the horses. He offers a crooked smile to Adelita, which is only returned with a simple nod, nothing more. His smile fades, but he nevertheless begins to talk to her in Spanish that Arthur perceives as nothing but gibberish. They eventually set out away from town, riding aimlessly into the evening.

"Is she coming with us?" Javier asks after a while. “Or does she have another place?”

Arthur looks down at her arm, seeing that most of the blood has dried on her sleeve. It’ll heal in a few days, a week at most. There’s still the question of whether it’s infected or not, but there’s no way of knowing until later.

“We could, uh... take you back to camp with us,” he says to her, clearing his throat.

She’s unresponsive, but he knows that she heard him. Her arms tighten around his torso a little more, and the weight of her head rests motionless on his back. There’s no need for words. That’s all he needs.

The sound of soft crying fills the silent atmosphere between the three, never stopping until they reach camp.


	9. Worlds Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update!
> 
> I have more than half of the next chapter written. I may be able to post it next week *crossing fingers*
> 
> please enjoy and don't forget to comment (if you'd like)!

The soft yellow light from the lantern is the only light source on throughout wood aside from the campfire a couple hundred meters away. The low humming of rushing water echoes calmly, and even then my nerves are as delicate as before. The camp itself is small enough. I can only see three bodies around the center. Others must be inside the tents. 

Arthur leads Boadicea to the site, stopping her close to a wagon near the edge. The three men sitting around the fire stare at the both of us but remain silent. My heart drops to my feet as soon as I recognize the bigger one from the shop robbery. His mouth is curled into a sly smirk, and I feel a chill run down my spine.

”Don’t pay attention to him,” Arthur whispers as his hands wrap around my waist. He pulls me carefully to the ground. “He’ll stay away.”

I’m led to a small bed. It’s rather cozy in the tent, with a table with a few objects on it. There’s a picture frame of a woman, a flower inside of a glass jar, and a couple of discarded pieces of paper with ineligible words written on it. Revolver cartridges and some gun oil line a couple of crates beside the table, as well as another portrait of a woman.

“I’ll go get ya somethin’ to eat in a minute,” Arthur whispers as he rummages through a chest at the foot of the bed. He pulls out a burgundy button up shirt and checks it over before handing it to me.

“No! No... I’m fine,” I breathe out with a careful shake of my hand.“It’s just my arm, really. I-If you could get some cloth so I can wrap it-“

“I will, but if ya haven’t noticed, your sleeve is blood-soaked.”

I immediately look down at my arm, seeing that the once light blue cotton is covered in a gradient of red, including a few brown spots close to the cuff. A pinch of distress bouts my heart. How could I have not have seen it earlier?

Arthur leaves, closing the flaps to his tent on his way out. I begin to undress on top, stopping short of the bloody sleeve. A ghost of pain floats through my arm. I know it’s going to hurt, but I can’t bring myself to prepare for it. I slowly peel off the fabric, trying my hardest not to let out any sort of cry. Tears pool in the edge of my eyes, but I manage to take the shirt off.

Arthur’s replacement falls right above my knees, so I tuck the excess under my skirt. It smells like faint lavender with a hint of pine, but what stands out is the poignant scent of gun oil—all too familiar.

He comes back with a couple of apples and an opened can of corn. They are sweet and refreshing, but they do nothing to quell the fear that’s already settled in my stomach. He cleans my cuts and wraps my arm in bandages. Soft words are exchanged between us, most of which are simple questions and answers. His worried expression never falters, and when I try to undo my braid, he’s quick to get up and do it himself.

“Give that arm a rest,” he says as he unties the bow at the end. “I’ll clean it again in the mornin’.”

Javier comes by after an hour, cleaned up and in a new change of clothes. He doesn’t say much to me, pulling Arthur aside to talk to him about certain events and... persons. I hear familiar names float between them, seeing their eyes flit back to me in perhaps some of the most failed attempts at being covert.

The minutes stretch out to the point where their words become a string of incoherent whispers. I feel my body gradually lean against the wagon behind me, almost collapsing onto the bed underneath. A hand guides me down to the position not a second later, and before I have the energy to pry my eyes open, a wave of sleep overpowers me.

* * *

  _There it is. Hidden behind a facade of concrete and misleading windows and signs, a large room lays barren with only a couple of beds and a few chairs. Dust is abundant on every square inch, giving it that old, abandoned appearance to it. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and perfume, evidence of last night’s event._

_I can’t move. I can only keep my eyes fixated on the little trap door in the corner of the room. It’s wide open, allowing quiet whispers to float out from the depths of the ground. The voices are all muddled together—impossible to discern between the good and the bad ones._

_All of a sudden, gunshots ring out and shake the entire building to its core. A figure emerges from the trap door, running towards me in a complete panic. I force my feet to take a single step to the side. I watch her burst out of the doors, revolver in hand, running into the empty morning streets of Saint Denis._

* * *

 When I wake up, I notice that it is still dark; however, no Arthur to be seen. My muscles are stiff, perhaps because of the awkward position I slept in. I force my body up from my brief nap and glance outside. The three men gathered around the fire are gone, replaced by two women. Their voices are hushed and subtle, but a few laughs break through the calm air every few seconds.

I retreat back into the tent and sit down. Where could he be at a time like this? It’s late. My best bet would be to stay in here until he comes back. There’s nothing for me to do, but it beats going outside and facing a couple of strangers. Do they even know I’m here? Perhaps so. The men must have mentioned something to them.

I look around his tent once more. The portrait of the older woman has been moved to the other side of the table, making room for some medical supplies. I meet her frozen gaze, her features soft and friendly. I pick the frame up gently and turn it over.

_Beatrice Morgan_

_Spring Rocks_

_1870_

His mother, I presume.

I set it down in its place before taking the picture on top of the crate in hand. This woman appears younger, perhaps in her mid-twenties or so. There’s no name labeled on the back. Maybe a sister? Lover? Wife? To put it simply, she’s beautiful. There’s no doubt she must be important to Arthur.

A rustling of the tent flaps startles me to attention. The man himself, hat in hand, walks in with a solemn expression on his face. He spots me holding the frame. I’m quick to put it back in its place.

“I-I’m sorry,” I say, fumbling over my words. “I was just curious and-“

He shakes his head, almost collapsing into the chair beside the bed. Sweat lines his forehead and neck, his cheeks flushed in an almost painful red.

“H-Here, Arthur, take the bed.” I get up and move to the side, allowing him to drag himself to the more comfortable seat. Once he’s laying down, I go outside to find some water. However, I instantly regret it. The two ladies at the fire turn their heads towards me, confusion and surprise mixed on their faces. Beside them, two men who I hadn’t seen before, one older than the other, also look at me. I recognize the younger: Dutch van der Linde.

I open my mouth to speak, but it’s as though my voice decides not to be of any use. I’m left looking like a fish out of water, pathetic and dumb.

“Arthur… he needs, uh… w-water…” I force out slowly.

There’s a moment more of hesitation before the older man speaks up. “Mary-Beth, could you please get Miss Adelita some water for Arthur?”

One of the women nods her head and gets up, walking to one of the larger wagons in the camp. I mutter a soft ‘thank you’ to the man, not daring to look at him straight in the eye. The sudden feeling of exposure travels up through my nerves and to the tips of my fingers. No one says anything—perhaps for the better.

Mary-Beth returns with a canteen, a warm smile perfectly set on her lips. “It’s good to see you finally awake, miss.”

I stare at her blankly, blinking a few times. “Finally awake?” I repeat carefully.

She nods and giggles kindly. “You were asleep for the entire day. But don’t worry, Arthur told us that you weren’t feelin’ very well. Got the message through.”

_The entire day?_

“Oh, well, um… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I suppose we should thank you for lookin’ after Arthur.”

The others nod their heads in unison, agreeing with her statement. Maybe they do it a little too eagerly, but I don’t question it. The older man, however, sees my perplexity.

“We saw him come in. Stubborn as a mule, that Arthur. Asked him if he needed anythin’ but he just kept walkin’.”

I perk my head up. “Do you know what happened?”

“Wish we knew,” Dutch replies. “He tends to get into all sorts of trouble. Doesn’t like to do the explain’ that comes with it I’m afraid.”

A lump in my throat starts to form, this time actually preventing me from articulating anything comprehensible. I take my chance and turn away, feeling their stares pierce through my back.

I enter the tent in a hurry, noticing that Arthur has somewhat calmed down. He’s laying on his side with his eyes closed. I unscrew the cap on the canteen and kneel beside the bed.

“Some water, Arthur.”

He sits up slowly and takes it from my hand, emptying the container in a solid ten seconds. I want to ask him what happened, but I’ll have to save questions for another time. For now, I watch as he lays back on the bed and drifts off to sleep, not so much as a word of thanks. I can’t be upset though. Worry eats at my mind as the whispers of the others outside the tent begin to grow louder.

Before long, I realize that it’s almost morning. Jesus Christ, how long was I out for? Apparently more than 24 hours. Streaks of beautiful light graze the treetops surrounding the camp, bathing everything in deep orange and gold. I keep myself tucked away next to Arthur, only peeking out once to see the new faces.

_There are so many._

A few of them catch my brief moment of staring, either smiling or simply staring back in return. A rooted discomfort at their ironic behavior sprouts in a sudden fit of panic. I’m not supposed to be here; not among a gang of outlaws... killers, thieves, and mercenaries out to cause some trouble no doubt. I look at Arthur’s sleeping form and sigh inwardly. Really, what a hypocrite I am.

As I wait out Arthur’s nap, I catch bits and pieces of conversation among the others, most of which originates from at least one of the girls. To my surprise, Miss Jackson has her own place here. I wonder if she knows that it’s _me_ who’s staying. Perhaps, if all ends well, I could give her the dress she ordered back at the shop.

_The shop._

Mr. Kretzschmar must be worried sick. He was there when it all happened. The man had to endure Henry’s verbal rampage and watch the bastard make a mess of things. If I had known he was going to be there, I would have stayed well away from the shop... and the town altogether.

I sit down on the chair beside the table and tilt my head up, hoping to build a plan on how to get back home as soon as possible. Henry would no doubt stay in Blackwater for a couple more days, and I don’t have to worry about any lawmen or potential Pinkertons chasing after me. He’s already got enough after him.

The other option would be to spend the next few days here. If needs be, I could move up to Strawberry for a month. I have enough savings, and it wouldn’t-

Wait.

My thoughts come to a screeching halt as my eyes fix on the wagon in front of me. For some reason, my heartbeat decides to increase twofold, breath catching in my throat. That pain in my arm reappears without so much as a logical reason, and I soon realize I’m in another panic.

No, don’t read the words.

Don’t. Read. Them.

But I can’t help it. I involuntarily match the same words in my mind, unlocking age-old memories that I had forgotten so many years ago.

A tight pressure abruptly takes hold of my knee, and I compulsively jump back in my chair, jerking away from the strong grip. I look down to see Arthur holding his hands up in quiet surrender.

“Woah, easy,” he soothes, the vibration from his voice enough to hold me steady. “You alright?”

“Oh, uh, yes.” I clear my throat in a feeble attempt to calm myself, but it isn’t long before my eyes flit back to the portrait tacked on the wagon.

I read the print again:

_Lyle Morgan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you have have a great week! (:


	10. A Day Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, I really thought I would be able to get a chapter out two weeks ago. me and my totally realistic ideas smh. 
> 
> sorry I wasn't able to update. life got in the way, as well as a pretty bad cold.
> 
> anyway, for this chapter, PLEASE BE WARNED:  
> -mentions of abuse (mental and physical)  
> -mentions of rape  
> -mentions of prostitution
> 
> although I updated tags, I still thought it would be a good idea to add these here.
> 
> I should be able to add another chapter by the end of the month. 
> 
> sorry if this chapter sucks. it's more of a filler.
> 
> happy reading!

"What's your name?"

"A-Adelita."

"Where did you come from?"

"Blackwater."

"Why are you in Uncle Arthur's tent?"

I pause, furrowing my eyebrows at the little person. His hands are occupied with a thin branch as he stares up at me with obvious wonder. Arthur chuckles beside me, cleaning my wound with some warm water. His silence tells me that I have to face this on my own. Great.

"Er... he's helping me get better," I say with a faint smile. "Is that okay?"

The boy seems puzzled over my presence and lack of explanation, but he shrugs it off without another word. His attention shifts from me to Arthur in a desperate plea for going out to play. The man shakes his head and begins to wrap my arm in new bandages.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but I need to take care of Miss Ad'lita right now. Why don't ya go find your momma and ask her?"

Jack pouts. “But she’s always busy! I don’t have anything to do.” His head droops low followed by his stubby arms. Poor kid. Being the only toddler around here must be a challenge—both for him and the rest of the group. I can only imagine the boredom he must face on a daily basis... and the whining that comes as a result of it.

"We'll do somethin' tomorrow when I ain't so busy. Start thinkin' about whatchu wanna do, alright?" Arthur ties the ends of the fabric into a tight knot before looking down at Jack.

The boy sighs and nods, retreating back outside to the others. I'm going to have to do something for him. He's miserable.

I'm getting ready to stand, but I feel Arthur's large hand on my shoulder, keeping me grounded to my seat. I look at him, tilting my head in confusion (and slight fear).

"Come with me," he says curtly. "We need to talk."

How can I deny a conversation I don't want to have? Unfortunately, there is no valid excuse I can come up with that will prevent it. I don't have anyone waiting for me, no unfinished business to attend to... practically nothing of importance for me. I'm reluctantly dragged to the shores of Flat Iron, where Arthur and I sit under the shade of a lone tree. Thank god for a breeze, because, without it, I'm sure I'd be sweating like a sinner at church.

“What do we need to talk about?” I ask dumbly, knowing exactly what we need to discuss. He takes his time pulling out and lighting a cigarette, leaving my question floating idly between us.

“Your business with that Henry feller," he takes a drag, letting out a thin cloud of smoke. "Tell me ‘bout it.”

Straight to the point. Okay then. “Um... from the beginning?”

“Was hopin' so."

"I-I really don't know if I should-"

He turns, his heavy gaze meeting mine in an almost threatening manner. I swear that for a half of a second, I have the nerve to keep my mouth shut and not tell him a thing. I could argue that it's rude to ask about one's business and leave it at that... but there's no way in hell. His aura is too strong, his glare far from relenting.

And I have no other choice but to begin my story. I take a breath.

"Well, I told you that I had lived in Mexico with my mother before moving here. About six or seven years before that, I came to Saint Denis to see if I could get a decent job to set us up here."

Arthur scoffs. If I hadn't known about that terrible city, I would have asked why he did. Now, I can only shake my head at my foolishness.

"I was able to get a job at one of the bakeries. It didn't last long, only a couple of months. The lady who ran it was so mean... I was sure she would have beaten me if given the chance."

"Why didn't you just go right then and there?" he asks.

"Didn't have enough for the trip back. Was only about fifty dollars short."

"Lemme guess. Mr. Henry was your holy savior."

"He came in one day, asking for me. He offered large sums of money if I came to work for him. It was easy enough, just working the night shift at a saloon waiting tables every other day. I even earned double the amount I did back at the bakery. I knew that for some reason, my luck had finally turned, so I decided to stay a little longer."

Another scoff.

"One night, he asked if I could walk home with him. He told me that since I had done such a fine job at the saloon, he wanted to give me something more. Seriously, what an idiot I was. Before I knew what was going on, he tied me up, brought me to a god-forsaken apartment in the middle of the city. It didn't take me long to realize what kind of business he was actually running. I couldn't do anything for those next three months..."

All the warning signs were there. The way he spoke to me, his praise and gentle nature... I always knew there was some kind of falseness to it, but I didn't care as long as it brought me what I needed. I was too eager to make my mother, myself, proud.

"He did terrible things, Arthur. They all did." My voice begins to break slightly, and I realize that there is a single tear on my cheek. "It hurt so much. The way they touch you soft at first, only to treat you like a rag doll later. You want to fight back, but after trying once, you never do it again. They knock you out if they need to, never once asking if you're still alive a minute later. Why would they? It don't matter if they know if they're roughin' a corpse or a new girl. They're too deep into the bottle to give a shit."

I feel another tear run down, this time tickling my neck. I quickly wipe it and look down at my skirt.

"To a degree, perhaps, I deserved it. I was negligent, and I paid the price. God gave me a chance, and I refused. I suppose the wise wouldn't turn their backs on Him. Unfortunately, I wasn't one of them."

A long, heavy moment of silence takes over. "How'd ya get out?" Arthur asks, taking one final drag from his cigarette.

Now it's my turn to scoff. "Managed to slip a revolver off of one of the patrons. Funny, since no one was allowed to bring in weapons. The next morning, I confronted Henry, told him I was leaving. I even promised I wouldn't talk. He began to yell curses at me. For once, I started yelling back. The next thing I knew, he was running, and... and, well, I pulled the trigger."

My breath catches in my lungs all over again, just like that morning. I need not explain further. It's obvious that Henry wasn't the one I shot, but the person I did... she deserved it. She was too pure for this world. A perfect girl if I ever saw one.

I was lucky to get out of there that day. The shot apparently rattled half the city, attracting a number of lawmen to the abandoned space in less than five minutes. Henry got away, but nonetheless, people talked. Fingers were pointed in every direction but his... and mine. Rumors of the brothel spread like wildfire. Within the next forty-eight hours, the whole ordeal became close to being national news. By that time, I was back in Mexico.

"Yeah, I remember hearin' somethin' about it years ago. Didn't think much of it." Arthur leans back against the tree, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off of his forehead. His lack of pity doesn't faze me, and probably for the better. It's been too long for anyone to say anything about it and make me feel any different. I've learned to cope with it to a degree.

"You still haven't explained somethin' to me," he says carefully. I can tell that he's trying not to be overbearing, but the curiosity in his voice is clear. "Why is he after ya now?"

"Why wouldn't he be? He saw me at the party the other month, and now he's got all the means to intimidate me. To him, I'm still a lingering threat, ready to be taken out at a moment's notice. I wouldn't mind dying, Arthur, I really wouldn't, but when it's Henry Gilman... well, you ain't ever gonna die."

That's the thing, isn't it? I would just be thrown back into the business. Even if that did happen, I would still be losing my life in a way.

Arthur doesn't say a word. In fact, he doesn't say anything for the next few minutes. I don't know if he's taking his time to come up with some sort of reply, or if he's really got nothing to add. My mind turns over the subject a bit longer, only to stop when movement off in the distance catches my eye. A lone pronghorn makes its way across the plain, grazing on its own. Luckily, the wind is blowing our scent away from it, so it hasn't noticed our presence just yet.

"Damn it, wish I had my bow. Prob'bly would've missed anyhow. You know how to shoot, don't ya?" Arthur asks, pulling out his cattleman revolver. "'Good shot' if I remember you tellin' me."

He wants me to shoot the pronghorn? "I-I guess, but it was really just a bluff," I lie, averting my gaze from his. "From this far, I'm sure to miss."

He chuckles, and I know he sees straight through my weak deception. "Well, we ain't gonna know till ya give it a shot." He holds out the gun, handle pointed at me.

I take the weapon from his hand gingerly, examining its fine finish and clean condition. It oddly makes me miss my old revolver, even though I never really used it. Still, the weight of it makes me nervous. I have never shot a large game animal before, and doing it front of Arthur only adds more pressure.

Gathering what courage I have left, I stand to my feet, steadying myself, and take aim. I line up the barrel with the creature, slowly guiding it near its front leg. _Deep breath in... hold it... relax... keep it there... deep breath out... pull the trigger._

The shot rings out like lightning. I stumble back a couple of steps before catching myself, immediately looking to see at my attempt. Sure enough, the pronghorn lies dead in the grass, a trickle of deep red already tainting the pale landscape. My heart begins to beat erratically, and I can feel the relief flow through me, followed by a bit of satisfaction.

"Not bad," he comments, "This should help the camp for a day or two. Ya haven't had a bowl of Pearson's stew yet, have ya?"

I shake my head. "No, not yet."

"Well, you're in for a treat."

"Are you saying that I should be concerned?"

"Maybe."

I smile and hand him back his gun. After he picks up the pronghorn, we begin to make our way back to camp. I look up to see an overcast of grey clouds, and what sounds like the low rumble of thunder.

"Haven't had a bit of rain in a couple of weeks," I say, kicking a rock to the side of the trail.

"No, no rain."

Nothing.

We reach the campsite a few minutes later. I begin to naturally gravitate towards Arthur's tent, away from the others, but his hand on my wrist stops me from going any further.

"No, you're comin' with me to give this to him," he whispers gravely. "I ain't the one who shot it, am I?"

A wave of panic hits my core. "I-It's alright, Arthur, really. No one needs to know that—wai-!" He tugs on my wrist harder, pulling me along until we reach Mr. Pearson's wagon. The man in question is chopping away at some carrots, his tall top hat adding a peculiar humor to his already round person. Once he spots us, he hurries over, a friendly smile greeting me.

"What do we have here?"

"Pronghorn," Arthur says as he drops the carcass on the table. "Miss Ad'lita shot it herself."

"I see," the man says, examining the animal. His eyes widen slightly. "A pretty clean shot, too. Impressive."

I offer a half-smile, suddenly feeling that betraying shyness shoving my pride aside. I lower my head. "Thank you," I mumble.

"This should definitely be enough for later today, perhaps tomorrow as well. You haven't tried my food yet, right?"

"Unfortunately, not. I-I bet it's delicious though."

"It is! You won't be disappointed!" He chuckles to himself, going back to his cooking station beside the wagon.

"Wasn't too bad, was it?" Arthur leads me across the middle of the camp, _in front of everyone else_. Side glances are directed at me, except from the girls of course. They don't hide their surprise at my first proper venture out from Arthur's tent and into their small world. I silently thank god that they don't seem to be bothered. In fact, I even see hints of smiles.

We stop in front of a large tent, probably the largest among all of them. My attention is drawn to a middle-aged woman sitting on one of the cots inside, busying herself with what looks like to be embroidery. Her hair is a fierce red, the freckles on her cheeks add to her overall beauty. What catches my attention is the dress that she's wearing; bright colors, elaborate designs, and high-quality fabric. Definitely not from around here.

Beside her sits Dutch, a book in his hand. He's reading with great interest, not even sparing us a glance until Arthur clears his throat.

"Ah, I'm sorry." He sets his book down and stands. "Reading a book by Evelyn Miller. Wonderful author! He really has the right idea about this country." He turns to me. "Have you heard of him?"

The sparkle in his eyes is oddly off-putting, considering that the last time I was this close to him he had a gun pointed at my face. There was a great threatening determination behind them, but now... simply wonder and admiration.

I nod slowly. "Y-Yes, I have heard of Mr. Miller. I met him once. Kind man."

"Is that so? Why, how lucky of you!" He grins and pats my shoulder. "Now, I would like to talk with you about a few things if you don't mind...?"

"No, it's alright. I, uh... I don't mind."

"Great! Come in and take a seat," he says, shooing away the lady with red hair. She lets out an annoyed sigh, not forgetting to give me a suspicious side glance as she passes by.

I look back at Arthur in a desperate plea to stay, but he simply shrugs and tips his hat playfully before leaving me with Dutch. The nerve on him, I swear. I step inside the tent and sit on a wooden chair next to the bed, keeping my eyes on anything but Dutch. My hands are already beginning to get clammy.

"So, tell me, Miss Adelita," he takes a cigar and lights it, "am I right to assume that you won't be staying with us for very long?"

I quickly shake my head. "No, sir, I won't. I'll be out of here in a few days."

He hums, nodding approvingly. "Good, good. And you will be alright once you do go back out on your own? Arthur told me what that man did to you a couple of days ago. I trust he won't be a nuisance?"

"Y-Yes, sir. He should be gone as long as I stay away for now."

He continues to ask about my relation to Henry, and I reply as best as I can, eventually telling him the same story I told Arthur earlier. This switch in character remains unsettling, and I'm unable to get rid of the lingering image of him in a bandana... and the end of the barrel in front of it.

"Well, I do wish you the best," he concludes with a smile. "And please, make yourself at home. I notice that you don't like to come out of Arthur's tent very often..."

My cheeks heat up lightly, but I assure him that it's nothing to be worried about. "Just a little shy, that's all, Mr. van der Linde. I don't want to be in anyone's way."

He dismisses my comment with a wave of his hand. "I trust you'll behave yourself, miss. If you do need anything, however, you can always ask Arthur. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to lend a hand."

I nod, rising to my feet. I'm about to thank him for the talk, but something else pops into my head. I probably shouldn't be asking about something like this, but for the sake of my sanity, I let it out.

"Actually, may I ask _you_ a question, Mr. van der Linde?"

"About?"

"About Arthur."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter should be a little better... hopefully.
> 
> have a good day/night!


	11. Companionship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I had planned more for this chapter, but time caught with me. so, here's what I have. 
> 
> the next chapter will involve a lot more content. that I can promise.
> 
> I am not sure if I will be posting for the rest of the month. I'll be traveling to Asia, coming back for a few days, and then going out again. so, I will be very busy. I'm planning to use my time on the plane to write and do some minor edits on other chapters.
> 
> enjoy reading!

Dutch raises an eyebrow and eyes me suspiciously. There's no reason not to be, but the way he's looking at me... It's almost as if I were about to cross forbidden territory. However, it suddenly vanishes with a shrug.

"Well, I don't suppose it will bring any sort of harm," he relents. "What is the question?"

I open my mouth, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "I was wondering when Arthur met you," I say carefully. "He seems to have a close relationship with you and Mister...?"

"Matthews."

"Yes. Has he always been like that? Quiet, I mean."

Dutch hums and scratches his chin in thought. "Been over twenty years, I reckon. Arthur has always been the... less verbally expressed one among us, but it's in his nature. Always has been, to a degree, at least. Don't let it get to ya. He means no harm."

And I believe him. I've seen it first hand over numerous occasions. Still, I wish I knew more. I'm afraid of prying any further, so I finally thank him for the talk and make my way out of the tent. The sky has darkened a few more shades, but not quite enough to be alarming. I eye Arthur's wagon from the side and force myself away from it, taking slow steps towards the others.

Four girls are sitting in a circle beside one of the smaller wagons, not including the red-haired woman or Jack's mother. If I remember correctly, I think the latter's name is Abigail.

"Come have a seat next to us, Miss Adelita! Don't be shy now." Miss Jackson kindly motions me over, patting an empty space beside her.

My steps carefully find their way next to the group, and I do my best to put on a gentle smile. "Thank you, miss, but please, call me Adelita," I assure her. "I've met with you before."

"Why yes, you're right. At the tailor. You didn't go through the trouble of making that dress now, did you?"

"Of course I did. An order is an order no matter the circumstances. It's waiting for you at the shop if you would ever want to pick it up."

A couple of _ooohs_ echo among the girls. Mary-Beth goes on to ask if I'm a seamstress, and I explain I am just an assistant. "Mr. Kretzschmar has been a good man to me since I've arrived. I love my position, but it can become rather... mundane after a certain point."

"I bet you get to make all kinds of fancy dresses!" She exclaims. "All that beautiful fabric for all those balls and parties... Why I don't believe I would ever tire from it."

I chuckle at her words and offer a nod, mostly because I know the reality of it. There's no need to tell her otherwise.

"You mentioned that you 'arrived'," another girl speaks up. I turn to her, catching a better look at her strong dark eyes and honey brown hair. I can tell she isn't too happy about my stay, but she doesn't blatantly express it. I know she's giving me a chance. "Arrived from where?"

"Mexico. Diez Coronas specifically."

"But you speak English so well," Tilly interjects. "There's hardly an accent."

"I was born here, but my father moved us around a lot. Never really got to see him during that. He eventually left us in Mexico. I spent the rest of my time there, only coming back here for a few months."

"And why would he do that?"

"Well, he wasn't a good man to begin with. Never, really. He was hung for larceny."

The girls offer a moment of light silence, clearly feeling sorry for me. I shake my head and shrug, playing with the wrinkles on my skirt. "He died when I was little, so I don't remember much about him."

"And what about your mama?" Tilly asks.

The faintest of smiles settles on my lips. "The best woman I ever knew," I say, suddenly feeling a familiar loss in the pit of my stomach. "Kind, headstrong, patient... Who knows what she saw in my father all those years. Pneumonia got her back in January."

"It must be terrible living all alone," Mary-Beth cautiously adds. "Aren't you afraid of what might happen to you?"

_Of what has already happened._

I sigh and look up at her with every ounce of determination I can muster. I know I'm not strong, not physically, nor mentally for that matter, but it's time for me to try to start being both. I've gone through so much, why can't I keep going? This sense of being helpless... it's not that it has become tiresome, but instead rather infuriating. Embarrassing. I should be better than this.

Yet, I'm not.

The evening passes by rather quickly, more so than I expected. I learn the names of the other two girls, Jenny and Karen. They don't say much other than ask questions, but I don't mind. Karen opens up almost immediately after a bottle of liquor is handed to her, but Jenny retains her watchful eye over me.

"Dinner's hot and ready!" Mr. Pearson calls out to the camp. Almost instantly, at least three men rush up to the steaming cauldron and serve themselves their shares. I take my chance to look around for Arthur, but a hand on my back draws my attention.

I turn to find Mr. Matthews behind me, chuckling and holding his hand out. I take it gently and stand to my feet. "I see you're looking for Arthur?" He asks, leading me to Mr. Pearson's wagon.

"O-Oh, no, no. I was just wondering-"

"He'll be back. Don't worry. Now, how about you finally try some of Pearson's famous stew?"

I nod, and before I have a chance to register what's going on, a large bowlful is thrust into my hands, so much so that the spoon already provided falls out. It's replaced in a split second. Only then I realize that Mr. Pearson is eager for me to dig in.

"Enjoy it now. This is a good batch."

"Oh, uh, thank you, Mr. Pearson."

He grins and nods his head before going to tend to the others. I find an open seat at the round table in the middle of the camp, avoiding the stares of the two other men already sitting there. They're both older and, as far as I have seen, don't do much in terms of helping the camp. Needless to say, I keep to myself.

The meal in front of me doesn't look so appetizing once I give it a thorough examination. A few pieces of vegetables float awkwardly in a seemingly bland broth, but at least there are a few chunks of meat visible. I put my judgment aside and take my first spoonful... and do everything in my power not to make a face.

It's lacking various herbs, leaving behind a rather odd tasting mixture of just water, vegetables, and meat. Nothing more, but a lot less. Still, I force it all down. I'm sure I'll have an upset stomach later, but it's refreshing to have something warm after awhile.

I push the bowl aside, spotting Javier making his way over to the table. He tips his hat before sitting down in the empty seat, his own dish in hand.

" _What did you think of the stew?_ " he asks in Spanish, a faint but alluring smile growing on his lips.

I find a wisp of comfort upon hearing his words and giggle silently. " _Not too bad, but I think it lacked some seasoning. It didn't taste like much._ "

" _Ah, well, if you would like, I have a couple of cans of-_ "

" _No, I'm alright,_ " I say quickly. " _Thank you, but I'm more than fine to eat what the others do._ "

He shrugs and starts to eat his own meal, making light conversation with the other two men at the table. I listen absentmindedly, constantly glancing around to see if Arthur has arrived. Still, nothing. Once most of the others finish up, they retreat into their own spaces, back to the normal routine of things. However, a fist-fight isn't too late to catch up, and suddenly the place is in a somewhat strained disarray.

"Mac, what the hell are you-?! Davey! Enough of that!" Abigail is the first to yell, followed by Mr. Matthews. I notice an old, frail man with spectacles hastily retreating from the scene as the two men continue their exchange, of course with no lack of curses hurled at one another.

Mr. Pearson and the other man from the shop robbery (whose name I have yet to discover) step in to pull them apart, but it proves to be difficult. Poor Mr. Pearson is thrown off his feet, and the other man is shoved away.

"That was the last bottle, you son of a bitch!" One of the two men yells with an evident slur in his words. The other doesn't say anything, instead proceeding to pin him down to the ground. They struggle for a few seconds, only to finally be ripped apart by Javier and another man—John, I believe.

The brawlers' bodies lay motionless next to each other, no sign of any more energy in either. The group takes a collective sigh with a few shaking their heads in disbelief. We watch as Dutch stride up to the pair, voice booming his disappointments.

"You two better get it together! There is no room for two, perfectly capable men to be fighting of a bottle of whiskey," he begins. His face is just a single shade of red, but that's nothing compared to the anger in his eyes; or perhaps the exhausting result of having dealt with the situation many times. "I expect you to be above these feeble matters, but yet, for the third time this week, here you are again. So drunk you can't even see in front of your own noses." There's a pause as he looks down at the Callander boys. Then, he turns and leaves, muttering a quiet word of "unbelievable" under his breath.

If there's one thing I have learned about this group of outlaws, it's that they are quick to forgive and forget. Not just ten minutes had passed before little Jack came running about, searching for objects hidden in the ground below his feet. I gave him a small smile and wave, but he simply says hello before going back to the task at hand.

* * *

Dusk turns into night. Birds turn into crickets. My loneliness turns into unease. Arthur has not returned. I know it's only been less than twelve hours, but for some reason, it feels longer. Terrible considering how hot and humid this particular night is.

I wait on his bed, staring at the photograph of his father. There's nothing else to do. At one point, Tilly arrives with some fresh clothes, ordering me out of the old ones. I'm quick to obey. The new set already makes me feel a little cooler.

"This is Arthur's," I say, handing her the soft burgundy shirt.

"Oh, I know. Looked too big on you when I first saw it. He could've just asked one of us to lend you one that night."

I look at her. "I'm sure he didn't want to disturb you."

She smiles politely, busying herself with correcting my skirt. She gestures at the photo. "Knew him?"

I turn to look back at the informal portrait of the convict and read the

 _Lyle Morgan_  
_Larceny_  
_12-7-1874_

"No, just interesting," I reply. "Now I see where Arthur gets his passion for this."

Tilly makes a face that I can't quite discern, but she simply nods for my sake and bids me a good night.

Eventually, I begin to fall into my own slumber. The thick air isn't any help, but at least the silence is enough. Slow footsteps make their way into the tent a while later, and I open my eyes to see Arthur taking his hat off. He starts to unbutton his shirt, but I clear my throat before he can go any further. He stops and looks at me. "I wasn't sure when you would come back," I say in a whisper. "If you want, I can-"

"Nah, I need to go wash up." He digs through the chest at the foot of the cot before gathering new clothes. "I'll be back in a bit."

With that, he leaves again. I lay back down and give the picture one last glance, letting my thoughts lull me to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your patience. see you in a month or so!


	12. Announcement/Thank You!

Hello!

 

Author here. Sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t an update. I just wanted to make an announcement regarding this fic since I haven’t done anything with it for three months...

 

I have decided to leave this work for the time being. Once I came back from my Asia trip in early August, college was thrown at me without so much as a break in between. Not that I don’t mind, but it’s been a lot. I haven’t had the time or energy to complete this, and I have to admit that I’ve lost some interest in it. That is not to say I’ve fallen out of RDR2. In fact, I still play it often (my goal is to get 100% completion and there is no way I’m giving up lol). I even had a really, really long chapter following this one, but I suppose that my creative effort sort of gave up on this piece altogether. Or maybe I didn’t feel good enough to finish it. Either way, I may just focus on writing a completely new RDR2 fic. I would really like to, but perhaps within the next year. I also have another fic that has been lying dormant in my iPad for... almost two years now? Yeah, time to do something about that.

 

All in all, I would like to thank anyone and everyone who gave this work a chance. To be honest, I never expected it to reach +1k hits. That means a lot to me!

 

Who knows, I may just continue this work in the future, but there’s no telling when. For now, it’ll be considered finished.

 

Thank you for sharing your love of Red Dead Redemption II with me! I appreciate it! Outlaws for Life(:

 

-Author


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